Fallen
by MadnessMantra
Summary: Season 6 AU/ Alternate Timeline fic. Deans life with Lisa is suddenly interrupted when the sky starts spitting out angels. The chaos that follows may be just the beginning of a massive war between good, evil, and everything in between.
1. The Fall

AN:

I love alternate time line/ alternate universe fics- playing around with timelines and events and seeing the fallout, so I thought I'd try my hand at it.

I figure I should get all the warnings and stuff out of the way ahead of time.

This is and M-rated fic, but there will NOT be sexy-times in this fic. I know that's what most people that read M fics are looking for, but you will not find it here. What you will find instead is above-cannon levels of violence, blood, and some pretty dark themes. Bad things will happen. But come on, let's face it. We wouldn't watch Supernatural if we weren't all horrible sadists that enjoy watching the characters that we love suffer.

**-LISA-**

The Braedon family Thanksgivings had always been notoriously violent affairs. When Lisa was ten years old, her grandfather got into a fistfight with one of her aunts new boyfriends after a harmless discussion about barbecue techniques somehow turned to politics. When she was seventeen, there had been an incident that resulted in two of her uncles not speaking to each other for an entire year. She still wasn't sure what the two of them had been arguing about- her sister Beth had sworn that the two had found out they were sleeping with each others wives, but Lisa had her doubts. She loved her sister- or at least tolerated her which was more then she could say for most of her family, but Beth was one of those people who got her news from cheap gossip magazines.

And then there was the year that Lisa herself had come to blows with her family- Ben had been two, and her cousin Stephen had started up a vitriolic rant about the welfare state, premarital sex and the 'moral degradation' of society. She had politely smiled through most of it, but when he started going off on how single mothers were leaching the taxpayers hard earned money, and looking _right at her_ as he said it, she had had enough. He had gone home with a broken nose and a black eye, and he now made a point to avoid her during holiday celebrations, even now, years later.

So really, she wasn't at all surprised when everything went to shit.

"Everything going to be fine." She had lied for what felt like the millionth time.

Dean didn't look convinced. He wasn't an idiot, and he knew the signs of impending disaster better then most. Her increasingly ridiculous excuses over the phone about how she 'really didn't think that she could make it this year' as she tried desperately to weasel them out of the annual Thanksgiving party. That attempt had failed quite spectacularly when Beth and her husband had declared that they would 'bring the party to them' if Lisa couldn't make it out to her parents house. Lisa had then resorted to what Dean called 'aggressive cleaning'- waging a war against all the dust in the house, switching tablecloths no less then five times, and angrily scrubbing everything that they owned while muttering about how her stupid sister couldn't take a hint. She knew that he could see the storm clouds approaching as well as she could.

The door bell rang, and Lisa tried to smile.

Beth was a brightly colored woman, by any definition of the word. Her long tanning habit had left her skin a pastel shade of pinkish-orange that was usually reserved for womens undergarments. She wore a necklace of thick red beads over a fitted purple sweater.

"Lisa! It's been too long!" Beth exclaimed smiling brightly, wrapping her up in a hug.

"Yeah, well... I've been really busy." Lisa laughed nervously.

"I can _see_ that!" Beth said, eyes sliding over to Dean. "Where did you pick _this_ one up?"

Beside her, Dean was staring at Beth with an expression that clearly said - _Dear God, what is this __**thing**__ and how do I kill it?_

Lisa forced a laugh, but was saved from having to answer the question by Ben.

"Hey, Aunt Beth, Uncle Jeff- come look at my science project!" He said, pulling them into the living room.

Lisa turned to Dean.

"Sorry again, about all of this."

"Hey, they're your family."

There is a sadness in his voice, and Lisa can't help but think of when he first showed up on her doorstep half a year ago. She had never seen anyone as broken- it was only after a month of alcohol induced confessions that she had finally pieced together what had happened- Angels and Demons and just how close the world had come to absolute destruction. And how, in the end, the only reason that it hadn't was because Deans younger brother Sam had sacrificed himself, throwing himself into Hell along with the Devil.

She couldn't wrap her head around the enormity of that- couldn't comprehend that type of loss, or why, after everything that had happened to him, Dean had decided to tie himself to her.

It was the least that she could do to try and make sure that her messed up family didn't destroy the fragile happiness that he had built for himself here.

She tightened her grip on his hand. It was just one dinner. They would be okay.

Beth's husband Jeff was in many ways the polar opposite of his wife. While she was bright colors and scandalous gossip he was neutral earth tones and dry small talk. Their marriage seemed to have been built on the two of them completely ignoring each others existence.

"Did you know that there has been a sharp spike in sinkholes this past year?" Jeff was a geologist and talked about little else other then his work. "No one knows exactly why, though I suspect it is because of the recent increase in natural gas drilling."  
"Yeah, probably." Dean agreed, clearly having lost interest in the conversation long ago.

"Of course it's entirely possible that there's another explanation entirely- A shift in the tectonic plates, for example, could have easily-"

He never got to finish his sentence as that was the precise moment that the sky split open.

There was an ear peircing shriek-it filled the air completely, vibrating through Lisas bones, inside of her head, pushing against the confines of her skull. It was unlike anything she had ever heard- it felt almost as if the sound waves themselves were on fire.

And then, just like that, it was over.

The air smelled like autumn bonfires. Lisa blinked, ears ringing. She had fallen over somehow. She tried to push herself back up, but her arms didn't seem to want to cooperate with her. She lifted her head- the dining table was lying on its side.

_Ben. Where was Ben?_

"What just happened?" She heard someone ask- it must have been Beth, but her voice was strange, foreign. She tried to push herself back up again, felt shattered glass dig its way into her palms.

"Ben." She tried to call out, but her voice was barely audible. Someone pulled her up- it was Jeff. He had little spots of something on his khaki shirt. She blinked.

_What do you know. Even his blood is brown._

"Where is Ben?" She asked, louder this time.  
"I'm right here, Mom. I'm okay."

The relief almost floored her, but she managed to keep standing. She looked around. All the windows had been shattered- by what exactly? The table had collapsed in on itself and all the lights had been broken, but there didn't seem to be any debris in the room that had come from outside.

Outside- she couldn't quite see from where she was. But Dean was staring outside. He was staring outside and he just kept staring and that's when Lisa knew that something Very Bad was happening. Like, actual literal end of the world bad.

Unsure of what she was doing, she walked towards the window, looked up.

"Huh. The sky is falling." she said with a little laugh even as the rational part of her brain was screaming that that was not an appropriate response to the situation.

Streaking the sky in every direction were falling meteors. Her front lawn had been completely destroyed- one must have landed right there, right in front of them. If it had hit even a few meters closer- there wasn't a doubt in Lisa's mind that they would have died, all of them, right then.

"What in the Hell?" She hears Beth ask from behind her.

"Not Hell." Dean whispers. It is the first thing that he has said since the explosion. She catches his eye, and he silently directs her to the spot in her yard where the meteor hit. Only, she can see now that something is moving inside the crater.

Her first thought is '_Oh my God, are we being invaded? Have the aliens finally decided to take over?'_

Then she looks a little bit closer and notices that the supposed alien very closely resembles a woman in her early thirty's wearing business slacks and a- was that a gray sweater vest?

She looked at Dean, wondering if he had the answer to the inexplicably business-casually dressed aliens.

"What is this?"

"It's the Angels." He answered, voice grim. "They're falling."


	2. Forever

Fallen Chapter 2:

AN: So this fic was born out a whole bunch of my crazy head-cannons about the power structure of Hell/Heaven, mixed with my stubborn denial to accept certain plot points within the Supernatural universe, and my obsessing about what effects changing said plot points would have within the timeline of the show in an overly complex 'For Want of a Nail' type story, all the while finding new ways to torture my favorite characters.

You're welcome.

**-CASTIEL-**

_There is a blue-white light, burning in the darkness. It is bright, so terrifyingly bright. Far too bright for something that is so cold. _

_He is falling towards it, falling fast._

_It is getting brighter. Bigger._

No.

_He tries to pull away. The light doesn't want to let him go. It pulls at him like gravity. He goes anyway._

"Vince, the 911 lady said not to try and move him."

"But he's like, twitching, Laura."

Trees.

He could see trees. Thin, dry ones, sprouting out of parched yellow grass, reaching up towards the pale blue-

There was something wrong with the sky.

"Do you think a meteor hit him?"

"I don't know, Laura. I mean, I saw one land right over here."

_A meteor? _

That seemed wrong, somehow. He stared at the sky, trying to focus his eyes, but instead the effort only made dark patches appear at the corners of his vision. He looked back at the trees instead. He could see two figures nearby, standing on a path near the trees. They looked human, but there was something wrong. He looked at them for a long time before he realized what was missing.

He could only see their forms. Just the physical shell, with no trace of the soul visible beneath it.

He had seen that sort of thing once before- after the apocalypse had miraculously not happened, there had been a brief period of time when he had felt invincible. After all, he had been _unmade_ by Lucifer only to be brought back again. For a while, be had believed that there had been a reason for that.

And so he had set out to do an impossible task- to free Sam Winchester from Lucifer's cage. He had seen Fate itself defeated once before, and was convinced that he could do it once again.

He had been wrong, of course. The thing that he had brought to life had been empty- a shell. He had destroyed it almost immediately.

A human being without a soul was a creature of pure impulse, completely without compassion or sympathy.

And now there were two of them standing less than ten feet away.

He tried to pull himself up, to stand, but found that he couldn't. He coughed, tasting dirt and dust.

"Holy shit, Laura, he's moving."

"Oh, crap. He, dude- I mean, sir or whatever- you probably shouldn't move. You've lost a lot of blood."

_Blood?_

He looked down, saw dark red splotches on the sleeves of his coat.

_How did all of that get there?_

He was having trouble thinking. He turned back to the two figures- the female one was slowly approaching. He pulled back.

"Hey, can you hear me? You need to calm down- an ambulance is on its way."

Was she trying to reassure him? He studied the girls shape, trying to puzzle her motives out of the contours of her face. He still couldn't see even a trace of her soul, but she wasn't acting the way a soulless person should. It didn't make any sense. Unless-

The weight of the realization snapped the world into sudden focus.

_The meteor. The blood!_

He grasps at the blood-stained coat, tries to pull it off. It sticks to shirt underneath it, the shirt that is no longer white.

_Please, no._

The two figures in the trees are shouting something at him, and, from very far away, he hears sirens.

_Please, no._

He manages to pull the coat off and gets to work on the shirt. He already knows what he will find underneath it, but he needs to see, needs to be sure.

Suddenly, hands are grabbing his arms, trying to stop him from moving. Men. Paramedics. He hadn't seen them arrive. And he couldn't see their souls either.

"Sir, if you do not stop moving, we are going to have to sedate you. Do you understand?"

He nods. The panic leaves him suddenly, leaving him with only the pain and a dull sense of dread. He understood. He knew what had happened to him.

He lets the men help him up onto a stretcher. They lie him on his stomach, carefully not touching his back. He can't see it, but he knows the blood must be worse there- he can feel his shirt clinging to his skin wet and heavy. As they are loading him into the ambulance, he catches a glance of the two figures that had found him. He hadn't noticed before just how young they both are- late teens at most. The boy is standing behind the girl, hand supportively on her shoulder. Both on their eyes follow him, and he sees the girl mouth something that looks like 'good luck' before the doors to the ambulance swing closed. He is suddenly very grateful that he hadn't managed to get his shirt off before the ambulance arrived. No reason that the two of them should have to see it too.

The ambulance springs to life. He can hear them cutting his shirt away. They move quickly- someone says something about "significant blood loss". He closes his eyes, and waits.

"What the Hell?" One of them asks, and at that moment, any remaining hope that Castiel had managed to hold on to is gone.

The paramedics spring into motion. One of them starts calling to "Get the Sherriff on the phone and tell her that we've got a crime scene in the goddamned forest"

Castiel ignores them. The exhaustion is hitting him now. He doesn't try and look at the scars, at the symbols that he now knows are carved into his back. He knows what they are going to look like. And he knows what they mean.

_What did I do wrong?_

It's the only real thought that he manages to have before he passes out.

Things are clearer when he wakes up again. He realizes almost instantly that he is in a hospital room. There are thick bandages covering his torso and he is attached to various machines, some of which he recognizes, and others that he doesn't.

He is not alone.

There is a woman sitting across from his bed. He can't see her soul either. He wouldn't be able to see anyone's soul ever again.

He had fallen.

There were many different ways to fall, and each one affected the angel differently. Ana had ripped out her own grace and flung herself to earth, and had become, for a time at lease, essentially human. In a way, he had experienced something similar after being cut off from heavens power during the apocalypse.

This was different. This wasn't something that replacing his grace would fix. This was permanent.

The woman seemed to notice that he was looking at her. She smiles in a way that he supposes is supposed to reassure him, but he isn't sure whether or not to trust it. He knows humans can lie to get what they want, and he has little to know experience at reading people. He tries to start with the physical facts- female, early to mid-thirties, dark skin and darker hair that was pulled into a tight ponytail. A police woman, judging from the uniform.

"Your awake- I'm officer Amy Morgan with the local sheriff's department. Are you- okay? Do you remember what happened?"

"No." He answers truthfully. He knows, logically, what must have happened, but he does not remember it. Nor does he understand why.

_What did I do wrong?_

"Well, um, best we can tell you were attacked in the woods by some kind of cultists- they carved a bunch of these weird symbols into your skin. Then for some reason they put your shirt and coat back on and dumped you in the woods. You're really lucky that those kids found you when they did- I don't want to scare you, but some of those cuts on your back went pretty deep. You lost a _lot_ of blood. According to Doctor Vasquez, you should be dead right now- but I don't think I was supposed to tell you that."

_Should be dead-_

Castiel gave a small nod, not really listening anymore. The woman continued, oblivious.

"I've got to say, you've us folks down at the station baffled. We aren't used to cases like, well, this, down here. The FBI even showed up, they're down by the path where those kids found you, looking for signs of 'cult activity'. Speaking of which, I probably should call them and let them know you're conscious."

The police woman fumbled with her phone and Castiel stared at the wall behind her. The doctors had lain him on his stomach again. The pain was gone now, replaced with a tired numbness. He regards the IVs and monitors that they have him hooked up to, and supposes that they must have given him something. He still feels relatively alert though, and is grateful for that. It takes a great deal of effort, but he manages to sit upright.

The woman immediately stops her call. "Sir, I wouldn't try to move just yet." Someone is saying something on the other end of the line. "Sorry, I've got to go. Just- get here as soon as you can" She says before hanging up.

He fingers absentmindedly at the bandages wrapped around his torso. "I need to see them. The carvings."

"I don't think that's the best idea."

"You took photographs, correct? For the investigation?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I meant- you're in shock, you need to focus on your recovery."

"I need to see them. It is very important."

He could see that she wasn't convinced. He closed his eyes, wondering what Dean would do in this situation.

"Please, I just need to…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "No matter how terrible the truth is, it's better than not knowing."

He wasn't entirely sure where that particular argument had come from, but the woman seemed at least somewhat convinced, and she reached into a manila folder, pulling out several photographs. "All right." She muttered. "But if it gets to be too much for you, just tell me. We don't have to do it all at once."

Castiel took one of the photos from her, examined it. The symbols had been carved purposefully, carefully. There was a sort of symmetry to the overall design, even if no individual symbol was repeated. The symbols themselves were in Enochian, and read almost exactly as he had expected them too.

_Exile._ That symbol had been carved into the skin over his left shoulder blade, while the symbol for _Fallen_ had been carved into his right. In between, just below and centered over his spine was yet another symbol.

_Forever._

He waited for the despair to hit him, and was surprised when it didn't come. Instead, there was only the distant thought of '_So that's the way it is then.'_

He touched the photo. _Forever._

The police woman was looking at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. When none came, she held out some more photos. "And these are the ones that were on your arms."

"Arms?" He looked down, noticing the bandages that were wrapped from his wrists up to his elbows for the first time. There had been blood on his sleeves, now that he thought about it. He supposed it had to have gotten there somehow. It just seemed so unnecessary. The markings on his back were more than enough to keep him from ever entering heaven again.

He took the photos hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. He looked at them, blinked. "I can't read it."

The police woman gave a weak smile. "Well, you're not the only one. No one can make heads or tails of it- it doesn't even really seem to be based on any known language. I mean, this is all Greek to me, but the FBI guys say that the stuff on your back is some sort of weird proto-Hebrew thing but that these other symbols are something else entirely, something they don't recognize. But, uh, I wouldn't worry- they sent all the images to some Linguistic experts up North, I'm sure that they'll figure it all out."

'_I doubt that._' Castiel thought, examining the pictures closer. He had heard, of course, about the Word of God, the ancient alphabet only understood by a handpicked few of Gods most trusted servants.

Who could have put it there? No one had seen or heard from Metatron since even before the Fall of Eden. An Archangel might have been able to do it, but Michael and Lucifer were both trapped in the Cage, Gabriel was dead and Raphael- Raphael had no reason to do this.

_Raphael had no reason to cast you out either, yet here you are._

His thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and two men dressed in suits entered. One of them was extraordinarily thin. The police woman stood up. "This is agent Smith and agent Richardson from the FBI- They're just going to ask you a few questions about what happened." She smiled sympathetically before leaving the room. As soon as she was gone, one of the men- the larger of the two, shuts the door and stands in front of it. The thin man takes the chair that the police woman had been sitting in and drags it closer to Castiel's bed before sitting in it and leaning forward. Something about their demeanor makes Castiel instantly suspicious.

"My partner and I were both very surprised when we heard that you woke up." The thin man's voice is soft, almost friendly. Almost. "Considering the amount of blood we found all over that trail you were found on. It was quite a large amount, you know. I've had just a bit of medical training myself- not in any official respect of course, but I do know that all things considered, you really shouldn't even be alive right now, let alone be lucid enough to be sitting up and having a conversation. I'm sure the doctors are already calling it a miracle. But me- I don't believe in miracles."

The man leaned in closer, sitting on the very edge of the chair. "Which of course, leaves the question- what are you?"

What. Not who.

Dean had warned him, before, when he had first begun losing his powers during the apocalypse, about the way some hunters were. That, for some, it was less about what was right and wrong and more a question of human or not.

"Most hunters are pretty decent." He had said. "But some- some just want to kill. You need to be careful."

Castiel had not given the warning much attention, then. Back then, he had still had traces of his angelic power- more than enough to deal with an over enthusiastic monster hunter.

He remembered the warning now, though.

Castiel studied the thin man's figure. He certainly didn't _look _like a hunter.

"I can assure you, I mean no harm."

"Now, that really doesn't answer my question, now does it?" The man said calmly.

Castiel looked from the thin man to the larger man guarding the door and then back again. "Are the two of you hunters?"

The man laughed at that, which Castiel thought was an odd reaction. But then again, the entire situation was becoming downright bizarre. "What I am isn't what's important right now. What is important is what you are, and what you know about what happened to the sky a few hours ago."  
_There is something wrong with the sky._

Castiel remembered that he had thought that before, when he had first fallen. He hadn't been able to make sense of what the thought meant. He glanced out the window, but everything looked normal now.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

The man sighed, shaking his head slightly. "So we're going to be like this then, are we?"

He felt a slight pull on his right index finger, heard a slight disruption in the rhythmic beeping of the hospital machines. He looked back to the thin man, and saw that he had pulled plastic clip of the heart rate monitor off of Castiels finger and had attached it to his own instead.

The large man at the door gave an exasperated sigh. "Damn it, Reid, _here_?"

The thin man, Reid, apparently, just smiled serenely. "Don't you worry- this shouldn't take too long."

Castiel glanced back and forth between the two of them, trying to puzzle out what was going on, while feeling a strangely familiar sort of panic building in his chest.

"It's really no use lying to us- we already know that you're not human, so you can go ahead and drop the act." Reid said, reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a small blade. "Or do you want to see how much more blood you can lose?"  
Castiel stares at the knife in disbelief. _Really? Are we going to do this right now?_

Behind him, the machine beeped rhythmically, calmly. "So let's try again- what are you?"

Castiel stared at the man. "I've done nothing wrong."

"That_ really_ doesn't answer my question." Reid smiled, before grabbing Castiel roughly by the wrist and pulling him into some twisted version of a hug.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhh, shhh." The man whispers, and Castiel can feel the cold metal of the knife on his neck. "You know, if you cut open someone's jugular here, they can bleed out in less than a minute. It'll probably be faster with you, considering all the blood you already lost today."

Castiel can feel panic pounding at his ears, his heart rushing at a near lightning speed compared to the slow, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. He knows, with a cold certainty, that the thin man's heart rate has not increased at all during this rapidly escalating encounter.

"Come on, Reid, how are we supposed to explain that kind of blood?" Somehow, the exasperated way that the large man asks that question is even more terrifying then the knife at Castiels throat. It is as if he is complaining about a mildly annoying habit of a friend.

_That Reid and his casual, unprovoked murder._

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Reid says jovially.

He has let go of Castiels hand- not that there's much he can do with it, with the knife already so close. The thin man could cut his throat open long before Castiel could do anything about it, and then, from his best guess, he would have thirty seconds before he bled to death.

_It's just a word._

The heart monitor was still beeping that impossibly calm rhythm. Castiel looked down, say that it was attached to the hand of Reid's that was not holding the knife.

_Just a word. Give it to them, and they may let you go._

But there was a man holding a knife to his throat whose heart was beating just as calmly as if he had just woken up from a pleasant nap, and another man who acted as though this sort of behavior was the equivalent of leaving dirty socks out in the living room of a shared apartment.

He remembers what Dean told him. _Some of them just want to kill._

Castiel will not have these two be the first people he tells what has happened to him.

_Thirty seconds._ He thinks, wrapping his hand around the cord of the heart monitor. He thinks about the symbols on his back and what they mean.

_A lot can happen in thirty seconds._

He pulls on the cord, hard, and the machine flat lines. With his other hand, he grabs the man's wrist pushes it back- the man's reactions are slow, he clearly had not been expecting a fight, and he almost manages to get the knife away from his throat. Almost. As it is, the cut is not as deep as it could have been, but it is deep enough. Castiel ignores it, kicks the man's chair out from underneath him.

_29 seconds._

He clasps a hand around the wound on his neck. In his panic, he had forgotten about all of the IVs and machines he still was attached too, and his attempt to tackle the man ends with him falling clumsily onto the floor.

_25 seconds._

He ignores the pain, and reaches toward the knife in the man's hand, who jerks it away. "You're insane!" The man says, voice rising to a shout for the first time. Castiel supposes that if he had been human, that would certainly be true. But he was not human, would never be human. He knew what was on his back, and what it meant. He grinned at Reid.

_I know something you don't know._

The door busts open and he hears a man shout- "What on earth is going on here?!"

He glances over, sees a doctor with a hand clasped over his mouth in shock, and the police woman standing behind him. He can only imagine how the situation must look to them.

"These men- are not FBI agents." Castiel manages to say. He sees the police woman's eyes darting from the wound on his neck to the bloody knife in the thin man's hand. She draws her gun.

"Drop the knife!"

_15 seconds._ If he had been human, he had no doubt that he would have fallen unconscious by now. But the carvings kept him alert, aware, and while he had no doubt he would come to curse that over time, in the current situation it was a blessing. To his side, he saw the large man pulling a gun from its holster on his hip, pulling it up in what seemed like slow motion towards the police woman.

_Sam and Dean would never-_

Castiel felt offended on behalf of all hunters everywhere. He judged the distance- the room wasn't large. He might be able to make it. Some of the IVs had come detached in his failed attempt to get out of bed, but many were still attached. He pulled the rest out.

He had lost count of how many seconds he had left, but he was beginning to see darkness at the edges of his vision.

_Not yet. You are not allowed to die yet._

The large man was pointing his gun at the police woman and Castiel ran towards it. He slammed into the man's arm, knocking off the aim, saw a bullet hit harmlessly on the tile floor. He saw the doctor tackling the large man from behind, pulling the gun out of his hand, and then the world started spinning uncontrollably.

Castiel hit the floor hard, and he could see Reid writhing on the ground in pain a few meters away. It seemed that in the frenzy, the police woman had shot him in the kneecap.

_Well good for her._

He caught Reids eye. The thin man's pale eyes were wide, wild. "What- why?"

_Because I know what is carved into my back, and I know what it means. Because I know that even if I die now, it won't be for long._

The darkness comes quickly, and Castiel doesn't fight it this time.

_Forever._ The symbols had said, and that was exactly what they meant. _Forever._

Coming back to life is much more painful then he remembers it being. There is a flash of a blindingly cold, all consuming light. Then it is gone, replaced by the pain. He had known that the experience was not supposed to be pleasant, but he hadn't expected it to hurt more then the dying itself.

He coughs, tasting blood.

"Holy- the guys still alive! Somebody call the freaking doctor!"

He stares at the ceiling. The wounds on his back were screaming in agony, but he couldn't find the energy to move. Suddenly someone is hovering over him.

"There's nothing here- I mean, there's blood- a lot of blood, but no cut, not even a scratch."

"What in Gods name…"

The police woman voice rings out, authoritative. "All right everyone, clear out of the room. Doctor Vasquez, I want you to run a full check on this guy. Once you are sure that his life is not in danger, you call me, ok? The rest of you, get back to the station, and I think it goes without saying that no one breaths a _word_ of this to those psycho fake FBI agents!"

"Yes mam!"

The doctor pokes around at his neck for a while, wiping away the blood as if expecting to find the wound underneath it, muttering obscenities in both English and Spanish as the cut continued to refuse to appear. After finally seeming to accept that he indeed no longer had an open neck wound, the doctor and a nurse carefully carried him back to the bed and reattached him to the IVs and monitoring equipment. The doctor studied the machines for a time before muttering more Spanish obscenities.  
"Doctor?" One of the nurses asks, voice unsure. "How is this possible?"

"Hell if I know. Call Officer Morgan back in, maybe she can make sense out of all of this."

The nurse rushed out, and a few moments later, the policewoman walked back in. "What's wrong."

"Nothing. That's just the thing- he's perfectly fine."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning when this guy came in, he had lost about a pint of blood. It's all back now. The fever's gone too. So he's fine. Absolutely fine. Except of course that he can't be, especially considering that he was _dead_ less than a minute ago."

The policewoman looked like she wanted to protest, but the doctor held up a hand.

"He was _dead_. You saw it, I saw it. His jugular vein was sliced open and he was lying on the ground for long enough that you and the other officers were able to get those crazy fake FBI agent cultists into custody. It's been 15 minutes at least. There's no way he can still be alive, much less in better shape than when he started. There's no medical explanation for all of this!" The man sighed, running a hand over his face. "As a doctor, I hate myself for even saying this but… this is nothing short of an act of God."

Castiel felt a sudden burst of laughter at that. The two looked at him strangely for a moment. The silence that followed was broken by the policewoman's sigh. "Thanks for all your help, Doctor Vasquez. Just don't… don't tell anyone about this, all right?"

The doctor threw his hands up dramatically. "Who would I tell? Any rational person would have me locked up in an asylum!" He left the room, still muttering to himself, casting a final confused glance at Castiel as he went.

The policewoman picked the chair up from where it had fallen on the floor and practically fell into it. "Right." She whispered, rubbing her eyes. "No one would ever believe this. God, what am I going to tell the station?"

The woman appeared to be almost as exhausted as he felt. "You could say that the cut missed the vein, that the amount of blood simply appeared worse than it really was."

The woman looked at him, blinking.

"I have been told that in certain situations, lying is the appropriate response."  
"Yeah, well, you might be right there." She leaned back. "You know, I don't even know your name."

"Castiel."  
"Castiel. Sure, why not. So are you immortal or what?"

"I suppose that I am in a way, now."  
"You know what, on second thought don't tell me. I don't think I really want to know. You know, before today, my idea of a rough shift was a couple of drunks getting into a bar fight, or some kids taking their parents Mustang out for a joy ride. I'm really not used to dealing with… whatever this is." She made a sweeping hand gesture to indicate the entire blood covered hospital room. "But I am pretty sure that_ whatever_ just happened, that you just saved my life so… thank you." She paused, clearly trying to think of what to say next. "Is there… anything that you need? Anything I can get you?"  
Castiel considered the question for a moment. "Could I borrow your phone? There's someone I need to call."


	3. Welcome to Earth

Fallen: Chapter Three

AN: For those of you wondering, don't worry, I have no intentions of leaving Sam in Hell. In fact, I'm pretty sure the next chapter is going to be in Sam's POV, so we should all see what he's doing soon. (This fics focus seems to be jumping all over the place the more I work on it- I thought that I had the whole thing pretty well planned out, but I'm starting to suspect that I'm going to be as much surprised by whatever happens as the rest of you.)

So for now….

**DEAN**

The news feed kept replaying that same goddamned shaky handheld recording of one of the 'meteors' crashing into a gas station before promptly exploding into a bright orange fireball as the anchors tried to find new ways to string the words 'Deadly, Global, Unexplained, and Catastrophe' together in a sentence.

Dean couldn't watch. He kept thinking back to the 'business casual angel', as Lisa had called her, who had landed in their front lawn. She had been disoriented and angry, but otherwise unhurt. Overall, she had appeared to be just as confused by the sudden downpour of angels as the rest of them.

He had asked her if she still had contact with Angel Radio, and she had seemed almost offended by the question. "You mean the Network? Of course I do."

"Great, then you can try and contact Cas, can't you? Maybe he knows what the Hell is going on."

She had looked at him with blank confusion. "Castiel? Why would he know anything?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because he's supposed to be _running Heaven _right now?"

She had stared at him for a long time, expression unreadable. Then she had just started laughing. "Do you think that we would let Castiel run _anything_ after what he did?"

"What he… He helped save the damn planet!"

She glared at him. "I don't expect you to understand, Dean Winchester. You humans have always been short-sighted creatures. But this world was _supposed_ to end. That was what Fate had decided. Did you really think that Fate could be defied without consequence?" She looked up, contemplating the sky that was still raining down angels. "This must be our punishment- we were tasked with carrying out Gods plan, and we failed. Because of _you_ we failed."

He had almost expected her to attack him then, but instead she had just stood up and walked off. Leaving him with several shocked and confused civilians and a wrecked dining room. He wished that she had attacked him. He knew how to deal with attacking. He didn't know how to deal with- with whatever this was.

The angels had stopped falling over an hour ago, and Lisa and her family were huddled around the TV, watching coverage of the so-called 'Global Meteor Shower'. And the goddamned news kept showing that footage of the exploding gas station over and over…

_Welcome to Earth. Enjoy your short but extremely painful stay._

He tried to call Cas and got sent strait to voicemail, the same way that he had a few months back after he had far too much to drink and had just wanted to talk to _somebody_ that he didn't have to explain himself too. He had been about to call Bobby but had thankfully been sober enough to realize that it was two in the morning, and while Bobby always picked up he wasn't about to wake the man up just so he could cry at him over the phone. So instead, he had called Castiel- and Cas hadn't picked up.

The next morning, it had seemed obvious that he wouldn't- the dude had gotten his angel mojo back after all, he probably hadn't even kept the phone. And besides, he was supposed to be busy, running heaven and all.

Except now it seemed that he really _hadn't _been. Dean wondered how many other angels hated Castiel after the Apocalypse. He wondered how many more hated him now. He wondered what would happen if any of them found him before Dean did.

He tried calling again. Nothing. He probably really _hadn't_ kept the phone, the more Dean thought about it. But there was really nothing else that he could do. Cas could have landed in Mexico, or China, or the _Ocean_.

He forced himself to stop that particular chain of thought.

He hated this. He hated not knowing what to do even though there was clearly some sort of case going on. He hated how miserable he felt, even though he had promised Sam that he would be happy. And he hated the claustrophobic feeling of trapped helplessness that had gradually been building ever sense he saw his brother jump into the Pit.

"You all right?"

He jumped. His reflexes must have really gone to crap if Lisa was able to sneak up on him without even meaning to.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just- I feel like I should be doing something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know… "

"Did you manage to contact your angel friend?"

"No, he hasn't been answering. But Bobby says he'll put some feelers out, see if anyone's seen him."

"I'm sure that he'll be okay."

"Yeah. I mean, he's a tough guy. He's survived being blown up twice, I'm sure he'll manage."

Lisa didn't press, or ask questions. He knew she must have wanted too- she must have been so confused about half the stuff that he said, but she always seemed to sense when he didn't want to talk about something, and never pried into something he wasn't comfortable sharing. The woman deserved some kind of medal for the crap that she put up with.

Just then, his phone started to ring.

It was from an unknown number, so he didn't realize that it was Castiel until he heard the familiar greeting. "Hello, Dean. I'm sorry for calling, I know that I'm not supposed to, but I need a favor."

"Cas? What the Hell, man, where are you?"  
"A hospital."

"A hospital? Are you okay?"

"Yes. Well- I am now. There was an incident, but there's nothing to worry about now."

"What kind of incident?"

"Some hunters found me- the kind that that you warned me about. But don't worry. The situation has been resolved. Although… the amount of blood on the floor is somewhat excessive."

"Holy crap, did you kill them?"  
"No, the hunters were both arrested. It seems that the police officers are under the false impression that the two of them are some kind of cultists- which, given the information that they have, is actually a fairly reasonable assumption. But that's not why I called. There's something I need to tell you" Cas paused, as if struggling to find the words. "Dean, I fell."

Dean looked over to the TV, which had switched to a new video of one of those so called meteors crashing into a swimming pool in Mexico. "No way, really?"  
Cas didn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm. "I'm not sure why- I must have done something wrong, though I can't seem to remember what. The shock of the fall seems to have left a small gap in my memory. But that's not why I called-"

Something was weird about the way Cas was talking. It was almost like he thought that he was the only one who fell. "Cas. Turn on the TV."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's not just you, allright? Angels are falling all over the world- one of them landed in my front lawn!"

Cas was silent for a long time. Dean heard the faint sounds of movement over the phone, followed by the distant sound of the television. Then, nothing. Dean looked over to the TV which was showing no less than fourteen falling angels lighting up the night sky over somewhere in Europe. He wondered if Cas had switched to the same channel. As the silence stretches on, he wonders if maybe he should have tried to break the news just a bit easier.

"But- how?"

"I have no idea, man- I was hoping that you knew."

"No, I- I've never seen anything like this before. This- it shouldn't even be possible."

"Look, whatever's going on, we'll figure it out, okay. Where are you? I'll pick you up."

"You don't have to do that."  
Dean looked over to the Braedon family crowded around the TV. Lisa has walked off to the side, giving him space. He hated himself for needing it.

"No, I really do. I hate just sitting here on my ass while something this big is going down. I need to do _something_. So- where did you land."

"I'm not sure. Give me a minute." There was an awkward fumbling sound and then, "San Angelo, Texas. That's fairly far, isn't it?"  
"Hey, at least it's still in America. I'll be there by tomorrow."

"All right. And Dean- that gun that you have, the Colt- Do you still have it?"  
"It's at Bobbys, why?"

"I was just wondering."

Cas hung up.

Dean stared at the phone in befuddlement, and then looked back up to the TV. Lisa was looking at him expectantly. He suddenly realized that he was about to dip out of Thanksgiving dinner in the middle of a global crisis.

_Now how to explain this-_

"Hey, I need to go pick up Cas- he's in a hospital in Texas."

"He's your angel friend, right? Is he okay?

He thought about the question. "I don't know. I get the feeling something's wrong. Something besides- whatever's happening. It uh- It might take a couple of days. Is that okay? If I go get him?"

"Hey, you've got to do what you've got to do." She looked over to her sister, who's bleached hair was still covered in dust. "I'd say that this dinner is pretty screwed anyway. I'll figure out something to tell them.

"You should be pissed. Why are you not angry?"

"Your friend is in trouble and you want to go help him. That is a perfectly normal response. Go help him. Just- come back, okay?"  
Dean nodded, saw Lisa attempting to smile.

"Do you want some turkey for the road? I mean, the stuff in the dining room is covered in glass and bits of drywall, but there's some more in the kitchen that should still be edible."  
"That would be awesome actually."

_You are way too good for me._

A few minutes later, Lisa was handing him a Tupperware container full of turkey, dressing and even a few sweet potatoes.

He doesn't think that Beth and Jeff see him though Ben looks at him oddly as he disappears into the garage.

_I am a terrible person._

He pulls the tarp off of the Impala and sits in the front seat. He feels at home for the first time in months.

_I am a terrible person, but this is where I'm meant to be._

He starts the engine, feels the familiar rumbling and drives off.

Traffic is terrible all the way to Texas. All it takes is one global meteor shower, and suddenly everybody is driving like idiots. It seems like every highway is backed up from end to end, so he sticks to the back roads and manages to make pretty good time, all things considered.

He parks in front of the hospital and walks up to the front desk. "Hey, I'm looking for my friend, I think he's a patient here."

"Name?"

Dean hesitates- had Cas used a fake name? But it was too late to worry about it now. "It's, uh- Castiel."

The girl at the front desk raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, and starts typing. "Room 256."

"All right. Thank you."

The girl doesn't answer, and starts playing on her phone as soon as he walks away.

Inside the room, he finds Cas watching the news. "There have been no new reports of any instances since yesterday. That is very good news."

"Yeah." He muttered. Cas looked- pretty terrible, actually. His arms and chest were wrapped in bandages, his skin was even paler then usual and he looked like he hadn't slept at all last night. And there was something weird about the way he was sitting. He had lost that ridged, perfect posture that Dean had become used to and instead was almost hunched over. But by far the strangest part was how Castiel seemed to be actually _avoiding_ eye contact. The whole thing was downright _surreal._

Castiel nodded, eyes focusing on the TV. "Yes. We'll need to wait a few days to be sure, but judging from the footage I've seen so far, the other angels were merely cast out of Heaven- similar to how I was during the Apocalypse. Which is very good news. I was afraid that you would run out of bullets."

"Bullets? Wait, is that why you wanted to make sure that we still had the Colt? Where you going to _shoot_ the other angels?"

"I don't believe that will be necessary anymore. I doubt that the others will do anything drastic out of fear of falling further. The human casualties should be minimal."

"Human casualties? What?"

Castiel was still avoiding his eyes and it was starting to piss him off. "I've seen what can happen. Falling- it's not exactly a common form of punishment but it does happen. There is something of a – tiered system to the process. There are four- I suppose you can call them levels, of the Fallen. When an angel falls to one of the- lower levels, they have a tendency to become rather violent in their desperation. When my sister Belial Fell, she buried an entire city under hot magma before we finally were able to seal her into Hell. And with the sheer numbers of angels that have fallen… we are very fortunate that they have not fallen into one of those lower levels. "  
Dean looked at the TV, tried to imagine each one of the fallen angels as a city-destroying death machine. "Yeah, that would have been bad."

Castiel was staring out the window now. "As it stands, I expect that the situation might actually be beneficial. They will all be desperately trying to regain their place in heaven. I suspect that you might see a significant increase in miracle cures in the near future."

Something was bugging Dean about the way Cas was talking. He kept saying 'they' whenever he mentioned the angels. Like he didn't think that he was one of them anymore.

"Cas, what's going on with you?"

Castiel was looking at the floor now. "I think I must have done something wrong. But I- fell differently. Further. I don't know why. I don't understand why any of this is happening."

Dean suddenly felt woefully ill-equipped to deal with the situation. Sam had always been better with all of the emotion stuff. "Hey, we'll figure this out. We'll fix this."

"It can't be fixed- the others, they still have a chance but I…" Cas trailed off, apparently struggling to find the words. "I've seen what happens. The angels that fall like this-we call them Watchers- they don't get better. They are permanently cut off from Heavens power, and are never allowed back into Heaven again. "

"So your basically human now?"

Cas looked to a blank wall. "Almost, for the moment- apart from the immortality of course."

_Wait, what?_

"Immortality? You mean you can't die?"

"I am very capable of dying, just not of staying dead."

"Still, that's pretty cool."

Castiel looked at him like he was an imbecile. " It is not _cool_, Dean. I will experience the pain of death again and again until the end of time. You of all people should know that death is not a pleasant experience."

"Can't you just… be careful?"

Castiel, if anything, looked even more frustrated. "Yes, Dean, I'll just be very careful. I am sure that that will stop the aging process."

"You're still going to_ age_?"

"Up until the point of death, which will cause everything to reset and the process begins again, yes. It repeats and repeats, until eventually…" Castiel suddenly stopped, and became very interested in his own hands.

"Eventually what?"

"There is… a ritual that a fallen angel can use to choose to fall further. To the lowest level."

"Which is…?"  
"Hell."

Dean blinked. "What the- why would anyone ever _choose_ to go there?"

Castiel picked at the dirt underneath his fingernails. "Many consider it to be an improvement to Earth- I'm told that a fallen angel enjoys a certain degree of… status there. Some choose to fall right away." Castiel paused, still looking at his hands. "It happens every time. The other angels would sometimes place bets on how long a Watcher would last before… breaking. The current record is 3,722 years- though had he been given a choice, I believe that he would have given up much sooner. He was trapped in an earthquake and buried alive for much of that time, unable to move enough to complete the ritual. But he screamed- as much as he was able to. Eventually, one of my sisters performed the ritual for him."

_Holy shit._

Castiel's behavior suddenly seemed way too calm for someone that had only recently found themselves in this situation. He looked dead tired, and was still avoiding Deans gaze, but otherwise seemed to be relatively unfazed by the strikingly bleak future he was now faced with.

A growing sense of unease settled in Deans gut, before his brain could logically piece together what was wrong. It was something Cas had said earlier-

Cas had turned to look out the window, eyes tracing the paths of distant birds.

_I was afraid that you would run out of bullets._

"Cas- what exactly are you planning on doing?"

Castiel didn't answer- not right away. Then, quietly, he said "I've seen what happens, Dean. With Belial and all the others- I know what's waiting for me. What I'm going to become. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Damn it, Cas, you won't! I know you, all right, and you are _not_ going to bury any cities in magma! Why would you even think that?"

Castiel didn't answer. He just kept looking at the floor.

"Damn it Cas, look at me! Do you see what's happening out there? Somebody did that- maybe we don't know who or how yet, but somebody is responsible! So you fell differently- what if there was a reason for that? Maybe you knew something that no one else did, or you got into a fight with whoever decided to throw the angels out of Heaven. There has got to be some sort of explanation! So all we need to do is figure out what happened, find some way of fixing it. They'll let you back in. They'll have to."

Castiel looked up. "Dean it's- it's never happened."

Dean smiled. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

To be continued…

This thing is going to be long if I ever miraculously finish it.

Reviews are appreciated.


	4. Monsterland

Fallen Chapter 4

AN: Hey all, I edited the end of the last chapter a bit so that it included a bit more important info about fallen angels

Also, the Sam chapters are not really going to directly connect to the rest of the story for a while, but they do provide a lot of important world-building background stuff, and I'm planning on connecting all the narratives eventually (that is, if by some miracle I make it to the end of this thing.)

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…Sam's Adventures in Monster-land!

**SAM**

Lucifers cage was different from Hell- or at the very least, it was different from what Sam had always imagined Hell to be like. Lucifer was similar in many ways to a bored and petulant child, who's favorite method of entertainment was less fire and brimstone and more exceedingly cruel mind games. He could create entire false worlds, construct ridiculously elaborate illusions designed solely to screw around with Sam's head. And he falls for it, every time.

He'll wake up, time and time again, in some new scenario where he has somehow been rescued. He _knows_ that it's not real, but as the days, months, years go on he finds himself starting to believe that maybe this time, it's real. Lucifer is nothing if not patient. He always waits until Sam is nice and comfortable before pulling the rug out from under him.

This new scenario is different, but Sam knows that in the end the game is always the same.

But still, points for creativity this time. The vampires are a nice touch too.

Sam had come to in the middle of a massive, dense forest, surrounded by the sounds of hungry animals.

"Well this is different." He muttered, looking around. He had wondered aimlessly through the trees and thick underbrush before stumbling into a clearing, where a group of vampires were devouring some small whimpering creature. They had all stared at him, as though they were as baffled by his sudden appearance as he was of theirs.

"This is definitely different." He mutters again, before running for his life.

It _was_ different. Before, Lucifer had always started his scenarios somewhere that Sam had felt safe. Sam guessed he was trying to be less predictable now.

He ducked behind a tree, took a moment to assess the situation. So, three vampires were chasing him through some forest, and he had no weapons to speak of. _So this is how it's going to be this time, huh? _This was- way too simple, really.

He grabbed a rock. _Let's get this over with._

One of the vampires came barreling through the trees and Sam lunged. As far as weapons go, rocks were not really all too effective against vampires, but he manages to get a few decent hits in before he is pinned to the ground. Which really leaves him with no other option but to wait and see what happens next.

"A human- how did he get here?" One of the vampires mutters.

"We should take him to the boss."  
"Are you crazy? If we tell the boss about this, we're not even going to get a taste. I say we drain him now, and just let Mr. Anger Issues be none the wiser."

The three started arguing, and Sam couldn't help but scoff at how generic all of this was.

_Really, Lucifer? Is this the best that you can do? This is disappointing._

The vampires kept bickering. "If we toss the shell to the Old Ones, then he'll never know!" One of them shouted.

This was getting boring. From where he was pinned on the ground, Sam could turn his head and see the forest- there was something in there. Something moving. Something big.

Suddenly, a massive furry shape lunged onto the vampires, tearing through them like they were made of paper. Sam scrambled up as the pressure on top of him was suddenly released and looked up, brain struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

It was a wolf. Only it _couldn't_ be a wolf, because it was the size of a horse.

He saw that the vampire who had been holding him down was flailing around inside the jaws of the giant beast, pounding uselessly at its teeth, trying to free himself from them. The other two vampires were fleeing into the forest, both their planned meal and their friend apparently forgotten. He heard a deafening crack, as the wolf clamped its jaws shut tight and the vampire let out a final cry before suddenly going slack.

"All right, now I'm impressed." Sam muttered. Some part of his brain is saying that he probably should be running right now, but he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the scene. The wolf was holding the vampires body and clamped its jaws around his neck. The vampires head came off in a mess of blood and sinew. It was one of the most singularly violent things that Sam had ever seen, and considering his life, that was saying quite a lot. But somehow, Sam found himself watching the whole thing with a detached fascination.

Once the head had been detached completely, the wolf looked at him.

_I really should be running._

He didn't run, but the wolf didn't attack either.

And that's when things started to get _really_ weird.

The wolf seemed to melt away, bones bending in at odd angles and large patches of fur fell off in clumps onto the forest floor.

Sam blinked, and then suddenly, the wolf wasn't a wolf anymore.

"It's been a while Sam."

"_Madison?!"_

She was thinner then he remembered, sharper, made of bone and muscle and not much else. Her hair was matted down with mud and blood was running from her mouth and dripping down her chin.

"You look… different."

She didn't seem at all offended. "Well, so do you. Taller, I think." She shrugged. "Or maybe it's something else. Time changes people."

"Yeah, I'd say." He looked at the blood on her chin. "You just… ripped a vampires head off with your teeth."

She rubbed her chin with a thumb, not looking at all concerned. "Yeah, sharpest thing around. Don't worry, their blood won't turn you unless your human. They taste disgusting though, so I _reall_y wouldn't recommend it unless you are seriously hungry."

"I _am_ still human."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Sorry, we don't really see any humans here in Purgatory."

"This is Purgatory?" He looked around, seeing nothing but thick dark trees.  
"It's where us monsters go after we die. We don't belong to Hell, and Heaven won't take us, so we end up here. I guess that you're probably wondering how you got here."

Sam shrugged. It didn't matter what explanation Lucifer came up with this time, he wouldn't believe it.

Madison didn't seem to notice his apathy, and continued. "Hell- or at the very least the part of Hell that you were in, it's pretty much impossible for the angels to get either in or out of."

Sam nodded, thinking. _You're getting sloppy, Lucifer. Madison didn't know about the angels._

"But it is possible for other things to get through. Lucifer's cage- it was never meant to hold humans. That's how Eve was able to reach in and slip you past the bars."

"Who's Eve?"

"It's difficult to explain, but she's- well I guess you could say that she's our mother. The mother of all monsters. She summoned you here. And she sent me to come get you. She wants to thank you."

_The mother of all monsters wants to thank me? Sure, that sounds totally reasonable. Seriously, Lucifer, this is getting ridiculous._

Madison kept talking "That's why- In the center of this forest there is an ancient tree- you've read the bible, right? Genesis?

"Yeah, a couple times."

"Well, this is _that_ tree. The Tree of Knowledge. That's where Eve is- I'm supposed to take you there."

Sam held up a hand. "Wait just a second. Are you saying that the mother of all monsters is seriously the biblical Eve? And all that stuff with the snake and the apple all really happened?"

"Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, a lot of the story is mostly metaphor, but pretty much."

Sam couldn't help it. He laughed. "Well, all right then. Why not. You got me, I'm interested. Let's see where the rabbit hole leads this time."

Madison looked at him oddly. "You- don't believe this is real, do you?"

Sam waved a hand dismissively. "What does it matter what I believe? I already said I'd play your game. So do your worst and let's get this over with."

He started to walk into the woods, but Madison grabbed his hand sharply.

"Not _that_ way." She hissed. "Don't you see it?"

"See _what?_" He hissed back. Her nails were digging into his skin, already drawing blood.

She didn't seem to even notice. "There, past the trees? See that stone?"

He looked. He only saw trees. He looked back to Madison. She had made no moves to lessen her grip. And there was something in her eyes.

_Fear. She's afraid._

He looked again. Trees, trees, and then he saw it- something that wasn't a tree.

A thick, jagged stone pillar rose from the ground, five feet wide and at least ten feet tall. It was different from the rocks surrounding it- the stone was made of something darker, something denser.

_That is something bad._

The knowledge had appeared without reason, drawn from some evolutionary memory from back when mankind spent their nights huddled in caves, using the fires weak light to fight off the never-ending and impenetrable darkness.

_That is something bad._

"That's not really a stone, is it?"

"No." She answerd. She still hadn't let go of his hand, but he barely noticed her nails anymore.

"Then what is it?"

She was silent for a while, as if afraid to answer. "They don't really have a name. We call them the Old Ones. They've always been here. Even before Eve."  
"I thought you said that Eve created all the monsters."

"All the one's that used to be human, yes. But those things have never been human- they've just always _been. _They don't hunt like we do- they just wait. Wait until someone gets too close."

Sam shuddered. The thing that looked like a rock but wasn't a rock blended in perfectly with the trees. It was easy to see how someone might wonder too close if they weren't paying attention. And then- what would happen? Would the stone suddenly come alive, like a giant golem?

He didn't want to find out.

She dragged him to one side. "We need to get out of here."

He didn't argue, following her into the forest.

The further away they got from the thing, the better he felt. Madison had finally let go of his arm, looking only somewhat embarrassed to find that she had left open wounds on it.

"Sorry." She muttered. "It's easy to forget, here, how much weaker normal humans are."

He studied her back as they walked. The way that she was walking was strange. She practically glided over the dried leaves beneath them. Sam had been trained in stealth since he was a child, but she was making him look like a lumbering idiot. He briefly tried to copy her gait, but only succeeded in making even more noise.

Suddenly, Madison stopped, and sniffed the air. "Crap." She muttered.

"What?"

She didn't get a chance to answer. There was a blur of movement as something leapt from the trees and latched onto her back.

It was only then that Sam saw them- Vampires. A whole pack of them, hiding up in the trees.

_Looks like the one that got away called backup._

Madison had fallen to the ground in a twitching mess. Something was sticking out of her back- it looked like the fang of some prehistoric creature.

The vampire that had attacked her spoke, and Sam's stomach dropped.

"I hate werewolves. It's not like you can find silver in this God-forsaken forest. But I'm nothing if not resourceful." Gordon Walker stood up, ripping the giant fang out of Madison's back and holding it like a dagger. "Basilisk venom. Kills most everything, slowly and painfully. And considering how we parted ways last time we met, Sam- I'm itching to have you try it out."

There were at least five more vampires still in the trees, and three others beside Gordon on the ground, blocking the path forward. Madison was a twitching mess on the ground. None of the vampires seemed eager to approach her.

_Blood is probably poisoned. But I'll have to take care of these guys pretty fast if I want to be able to save her._

A frenzied, half-formed plan began to form in his head.

He turned around, and ran.

Gordon and his vampires followed like he knew that they would. They were fast, so he needed to be faster. He retraced his and Madison paths through the forest, weaving between trees and through bushes at top speed.

He spotted it just in time.

Gordon had looped ahead of him, stood at the bottom of the hill in front of him, grinning hungrily. The rest of the vampires gathered around edging closer. Sam stood by a thick, old looking tree and picked up a rock.

Gordon seemed amused. "What exactly are you planning on doing with that?"

_Please let this work._

He threw. The rock sailed over Gordon's head. Gordon looked up as it passed, confused. Then he started to laugh. "You lose your aim in these past few years?"

There was a sudden deep rumbling sound, and all the vampires' eyes suddenly went wide with fear.

"I wasn't aiming for you." Sam said. "And that thing behind you isn't a tree."

Gordon looked back and let out a sound, a primal noise that couldn't even really be called a scream.

The ground below them rumbled, and Sam kept his gaze on the stone pillar.

Then, suddenly, Sam was thrown against the tree. He looked around to see who had pushed him, but there was no one there. He saw the vampires around him desperately trying to get away, and then gravity seemed to shift sideways. Sam gripped the tree, saw the vampires lose their footing and stumble towards the stone. The angle of the hill was changing, he realized suddenly, becoming steeper. The vampires fell down the hill, and then _past_ the stone. Sam tightened his grip on the tree branch, stretching his head to one side and looking down.

It took a moment for his brain to process what he was seeing. The earth itself had opened up, forming a massive crevice about fifty meters past the stone. The hill around it was becoming steeper and steeper.

It was then that he saw it- another stone pillar, to the right of the first one, and then another. There was a circle of them, surrounding the crevice. From where he was clinging to the tree, still above the growing hole, he finally saw it.

The creature, the Old One- it wasn't the stone pillar. It was the earth itself, this valley was its mouth, and the stone pillar was one of its teeth.

The circles of pillars closed around each other, and Sam heard a chorus of panicked screams followed by a wet crunching sound.

Sam closed his eyes, trying, unsuccessfully, not to think about it.

Gradually, the landscape began to shift back, and soon, there was nothing to indicate that the area ahead was anything other than a valley except for the massive stone pillars surrounding it.

It took a long time for him to finally convince himself to let go of the tree, and when he did, he started running away from this place as fast as he could.

To be continued…

Okay, that chapter was fun. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did.


	5. On Conspiracies and Shopping

Fallen Chapter 5

AN: This fic has been fun to write, though sometimes I worry about it being entirely incomprehensible to anyone except me. And also, the fact that we are quickly approaching 15000 words and still haven't really gotten to the what I consider to be the main point of the story is somewhat worrying. Especially considering my bad habit of dropping fics in the middle and never continuing them. But hopefully I manage to somehow stick it through to the end this time- if I do, I'm already pretty sure that this will end up being the longest thing that I've ever written. Hopefully I'll make it.

Anyway, lets get started:

**LISA**

"If you ask me, it's the government."

Lisa hadn't asked. "The government." She said slowly, casting a quick glance inside the pharmacy, and then back to the strange man that had suddenly started talking to her. He was pointing dramatically to the wall of display TVs which were repeating some new footage of the angels falling over China.

"This so-called meteor shower. It's obvious that it's a government cover-up."

Lisa suddenly wishing that the pharmacist would hurry up with her prescription. These past few days, the collective IQ of everyone around her seemed to have dropped to that of a particularly dull and overly paranoid middle school student.

The man didn't seem to be discouraged in her obvious lack of interest in his crazy theories. "It's all online- the government has been spying on people for years now, they know who to target, who doesn't fit within their 'system'. Those 'meteors' were actually precision missiles, designed to eliminate potential threats. Did you hear about how pretty much none of them landed in the oceans? No way was that natural!"

"Mm-hm." Lisa said, no longer listening. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text message from Dean: _Found Cas. Be back in 6 hours._

She texted back: _Is he ok?_

The pharmacist handed her the prescription, and she hurried off, the conspiracy theorists ranting dying down behind her. Her phone buzzed again: _Not really. I'll explain later._

Well_ that_ didn't sound good. Dean hardly ever admitted when things were wrong, seeming to believe that if he ignored his problems for long enough that they would eventually go away. Whatever had happened was probably really bad.

She looked around the supermarket, feeling once again completely out of her depth.

She took a deep breath. _You don't need to tackle this all at once. Identify the problems, and take care of them one at a time._

The first thing that she knew was that knowing Dean, the closest thing to food that either of them would eat the entire drive up here was gas station hot dogs and cheap fast food. They were going to need something a bit more substantial when they got back. She would start with that. Then she was going to set up the futon and get the quilts down from the attic.

She bought herself what she needed, and got started.

Lisa wasn't really sure what she had expected when it came time to finally meet the angel Castiel, but whatever it was this wasn't it.

She should have known, considering her brief experience with the business-casual dressed angel that had crash landed in her front lawn that angels just looked like normal people, but she still found herself surprised by the lack of wings and halo. Lisa had never really been an overly religious person, but the idea of what an actual angel was supposed to look like had been so deeply ingrained in her head that she had been expecting something a bit more- otherworldly.

She knew about Castiel. He was present in the few stories that Dean told about what happened during the apocalypse, and she knew how he had been the one to pull Dean out of Hell, that he had stood up against the entirety of the Heavenly host and apparently at one point molotoved an Archangel.

_He seems tired._

The thought didn't really adequately describe it. It looked like a bone-deep weariness had settled in and drained the angel (or was it former angel now?) of all color. The outfit wasn't really helping much either. Dean had at least had the good sense to grab an extra set of cloths before he rushed off, so at the very least Castiel was no longer wearing his hospital gown, but it looked like Dean had grabbed the outfit entirely at random from the clothes littering the floor of his closet, and the resulting combination did Castiel very few favors.

Castiel is wearing a faded cotton Tshirt that is a just slightly too big for him over grey sweatpants.

She actually remembers buying Dean those pants. It had been during one of her more recent ill-advised and unsuccessful attempts to get Dean out of the depression that he refused to acknowledge that he was in. She had gotten him a membership at the gym that she worked at, and had gone on something of a spending spree, buying him all kinds workout cloths. Dean had actually gone to the gym maybe three times, so for the most part the sweatpants had been crumpled up in the closet for the past month. And now, even though for all intents and purposes they were brand new, they looked old and wrinkled.

The only part of the angel that didn't look grey were the crisp white bandages that covered practically his entire arms and peeked out from under the color of his shirt.

"I am sorry for the inconvenience. I told Dean that he should take me to Bobbys, but he insisted that we come here."

"Well it's not a problem to me. Any friend of Deans is a friend of mine."  
Castiel nodded solemnly. "Thank you."

"Like I said, not a problem. Thank _you_ for, you know, helping to save the world and all."

Castiel almost smiles at that. "I didn't really do all that much to help. It was Dean and Sam who averted the apocalypse."

Dean coughs awkwardly at that and pushes Castiel inside the door. Once inside, Castiel stands awkwardly, looking around the living room as if hoping to find instructions on what to do next written on the furniture somewhere.

"I set up the futon in the guest room if you want to lie down."

"No, I'm perfectly fine."

_Oh my God, he's even worse then Dean._

Dean chimes in. "No man, she's right, you need to rest. Us humans , we need to sleep."

"I'm not human." Castiel huffs indignantly but doesn't argue any more then that, climbing onto the bed and under the quilts.

"Now get some sleep." Dean calls, closing the guestrooms door.

_Dean looks tired too._ She thought. _Tired and worried._

"I'm sorry for this." He says, voice low. "Sorry for bringing him here. I was going to take him to Bobbys, but- right now, I don't think that's the best idea. Not until I can at least get him to believe that he can get better."

Even though Lisa doesn't really understand, she nods anyway. "He can stay as long as he likes. I really don't mind."

She can tell that Dean doesn't believe her.

He sighs. "Why do you put up with all of this?" He makes a sweeping hand motion, gesturing towards himself. He's asked this question before, many times, and he's never believed any of her answers. She doesn't know what to say this time, doesn't know how to explain that he's worth it and make him believe it. Instead, she pulls him into a hug. He breaks out of it sooner then she would like, the same way that he does every time things become too 'emotional'.

She lets him go.

"Dean, I need to know what's going on."

Dean explains the situation as best as he can, though Lisa only really understands every other word of it.

"So basically, we don't know who cast the angels out, or how, or why. Castiel doesn't seem to remember much, but we do know that he was specifically targeted for some reason."

Dean seemed to think for a moment. "Yeah, I actually have a theory about that."

"Really?" Lisa asked. "Who do you think did it?"

"Raphael."

Lisa blinked. "The renaissance painter or the ninja turtle?"

"The archangel. I only met him once, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did something like this."

"Why would an Archangel cast the angels out of Heaven?"

"Well, I think it might actually be some sort of forced group suicide."

"What?" Lisa asked, confused.

"Well, the way Cas was talking about it, when an angel falls- not like Cas, but like all the others, they become mortal. And that when they die, they just- stop. They don't become ghosts, they don't go back to Heaven, they just…flicker out of existence. I don't really get why- Cas said it was something about angels not having souls." Dean paused, thinking. "Anyway, like I said, I only met Raphael once, but during that time he said that he was helping bring about the Apocalypse because he was 'tired'. That he 'just wanted it to be over'. So, yeah- after the Apocalypse didn't happen, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried something like this. And I wouldn't be surprised that he singled Cas out for the sucky type of immortality either- He's pissed at Cas after he trapped him in a circle of holy fire during the Apocalypse."

"That does actually make a lot of sense." Lisa said.

Dean looked down. "I'm going to need to call Bobby- see what the hunting network knows, and get him to hide the Colt from Cas …" Dean trailed off, as though realizing that he had said something that he shouldn't have. "And then I'm going to track Raphael down. He's got to be down here somewhere."

Lisa nodded. "In the meantime, I'll get Castiel some new cloths."

Dean looked up, suddenly. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

It was Thursday, so the stores were all reasonably empty, but even so, Castiel looked overly self conscious as they walked in through the front doors.

"So is there any particular style that you like? I mean, I remember Dean saying something about a trench coat that you would always wear…"

"Technically, it was an overcoat."

"Well, all right- Either way it's probably a good idea to get a new one. It's going to get pretty cold pretty soon around here."

"You really don't have to." Castiel said, for what was probably the hundredth time. "I'm perfectly fine in this."

Lisa gave Castiel a look. "You can't keep wearing Deans cloths forever, you know."

Castiel looked down. He had fortunately changed out of the sweat pants, but the new outfit really didn't fit much better. Which was odd really, considering that the former angel looked to be more or less Deans size.

Castiel nodded, oddly solemn. "I understand. That would be inconvenient. I will return this clothing to Dean as soon as I can."

_What the Hell, that wasn't what I meant._

The fact that he thought she was concerned about an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt was so bizarre that she was taken aback, and was left staring at his serious expression.

"No- what I meant was… don't you want to be able to wear your own cloths again?"

Castiel seemed suddenly confused. "Angels do not own cloths."

Now it was Lisas turn to be confused. "But- what were you wearing before then?"  
"Those were the cloths of my vessel. They did not belong to me. Angels do not own things."

"Seriously? You've never owned _anything_?"  
"There was never a need for personal possessions in Heaven."

Something about the way he said that made Lisa feel- sad, somehow. It didn't really make sense- after all it wasn't like all the little nick-knacks that she had scattered around the house really made her _happy_, but the idea of not having anything that you could call your own, of having nothing that is _yours_, felt wrong on some fundamental level.

"Well," she said, suddenly awkward. "You're human now, and humans need human things."

"I'm not really human." Castiel protested quietly as she led him to the men's clothing section. As soon as he realized that they had arrived, he looked at the racks of cloths with an expression bordering on panic. Lisa wondered just how overwhelming all of this was, watching as he cautiously approached one of the display racks before stopping and looking back nervously.

Lisa nodded encouragingly. "That's a good deal. They're on sale."

Castiel looked back, studying the shirts with an intense concentration. He picked one up, looked back at her.

"Do you like that one? Let's get it."

"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, I'm sure." Lisa said, trying hard not to sound impatient.

It took a lot of coaxing, but Lisa finally managed to get Castiel to pick out enough cloths to form a half-decent wardrobe. Castiel had balked at the register when it came time to pay, insisting that he really didn't need that much, and Lisa is convinced that had she not paid for everything as quickly as she had, he would have tried to put some of the items back. As it was he looked at the plastic bags in the cart guiltily as she loaded them into the car.

"I still do not believe it was necessary to buy this much."  
"Yes, it was entirely necessary. And it's all already paid for, so I don't want to hear another word about it."

As they are loading everything into her car, Castiel turns to her and says seriously "I will find some way of repaying you for your kindness."

"Hey, like I said before, you did kind of help save the entire world, so a couple pairs of cloths really isn't a big deal."

Castiel looked up suddenly. "There is something on your front windshield."

Lisa looked. "Huh. You're right. Probably just an ad for the new car washing place down the street."

Brightly colored flyers had been placed under the windshield wipers of all the cars in the parking lot. Castiel pulled one off of her car and studied it, face becoming oddly serious.

"What?" She asked, taking a looked at the flyer. When she saw what was printed on it, there was a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach.

On bright blue construction paper, some wacko had printed:  
REPENT! JUDGEMENT DAY HAS COME AND GONE, AND NOW THE GATES OF HEAVEN HAVE BEEN CLOSED! SOON, HELL ITSELF SHALL RISE UP AND THE EARTH SHALL BE BATHED IN FIRE!

The tirade continued, in big block print down the entire page, and ending with a web address, just in case they wanted _more_ pseudo-religious doomsday ranting.

Lisa's wide variety of mental curses at whoever had placed the flyer on her windshield was interrupted as Castiel asked, voice low "Is this what people believe?"

Lisa winced. "No- I mean, there are always a few crazies who believe that the world is ending- just look at Y2K. People are coming up with all kinds of insane explanations for the 'global meteor shower'. Just yesterday, this guy at the pharmacy was talking about how the whole thing was secretly government-funded drone strikes. You can't take people like that seriously, Castiel."

Castiel did not seem remotely comforted. "This could potentially be true though."  
Lisa finds herself staring at the paper. The words HELL ITSELF SHALL RISE UP stood out in particular. "What do you mean?"

"I can't be sure- I don't have access to… Dean calls it 'Angel Radio', but it is more of a hive mind that… the point is, with the way that I fell, I can't hear the other angels anymore. So I can't be sure about the current situation. But the angels were created to preserve the universes order. Now, with the powers of Heaven absent, any number of things could happen. Other powers may attempt to fill the power vacuum."

"Demons?"  
"Potentially. More likely, something older. Purgatory could open up, or beings from beyond this dimension could begin to appear- dark, ancient beings that we always held at bay."

"So, bad things then? Got it. But if that's the case, then that's just another reason to solve this whole angel situation as soon as possible."

Castiel looked up, and Lisa saw a cold determination in his eyes. "Yes, we do."


	6. Poor Planning

Fallen- Chapter 6

AN: This fic really seems to be jumping around a lot. I guess that's what happens when you combine like 3 different AUs into one story, it messes around with the pacing. I promise that this is all leading somewhere, though it may take a while to get us there.

Anyway, this chap is a bit more case-based- the original idea for this AU was pretty much a rewrite of the entirety of season 6, and while I think I've managed to make it pretty linear, there are a few bits that still seem like episode beats.

So let's not waste any more time:

**CASTIEL**

The attempts to discover the identity of the one who had cast the angels out of heaven had so far been disastrous. Every potential lead had turned into yet another dead end. The other angels were laying low- keeping quiet. None would answer Castiels various attempts to make contact. He had only gotten closer to another angel once since the fall, and the one encounter had been even more unsuccessful as all the failed spells to try and contact the heavenly host.

They had been extremely lucky to even find the angel, luckier still to catch him in the ring of holy fire. Castiel hated using the stuff, but it was the only way to make sure that this one didn't run like the last one had.

"Remiel" He began, trying hard to ignore the hate seething from the trapped angels eyes. "I just want to talk."  
"I have nothing to say to you." Remiel hissed. He was standing as far away from Castiel as he could, near the fiery border of the circle. It was as though he feared that Castiels condition were contagious.

"Brother, please…"

"You are no brother of mine, you abomination."

Dean stepped forward, suddenly. "Hey, watch it buddy."

Castiel motioned for Dean to stay back. He had not expected the angels to be particularly kind to him. They were all confused, angry, and in need of something to direct their anger at. He knew that, given his current status, he would be easy to be angry at.

_The Fallen. Betrayers of God that are beyond redemption. Cursed to wonder the Earth for as long as they can bear the pain, and then to Hell itself after that._

The angels had never been particularly kind to them, even before this.

The best that Castiel could have hoped for was silent pity. It became clear, very early on, that he wasn't going to get it.

Remiel sneered. "Raphael was far too kind to you- allowing you back into the host after your open defiance of God's will. He should have cast you out right then, not given you a second chance. If it hadn't been for you, this wretched world would have ended already and we would all be in Paradise. Not trapped, wingless, on this sin-soaked planet."  
Beside him, Castiel felt Dean seething. He suspected that it was only the memory of how hard this angel had been to catch that stopped Dean from stabbing Remiel right then and there.

Castiel, meanwhile, barely heard him. "You can hate me all you like. But we need to work together to find a way to restore Heaven's power."

Remiel joylessly smiled. "Do we?"

Castiel felt a sudden cold shock at the question. "Of course we do. The situation, as it stands – it is a gaping wound. The longer that it goes untreated, the worse everything will become. Soon the Demons, the Pagan Gods, and Eve's monsters will spread untreated across this world like a sickness. The angels have long been the keepers of order, and the agents of fate. It is our duty to stop that from happening."

"No." Remiel said, still smiling. "It was our job to keep this planet spinning until Judgment Day. We did our part. For billions of years we watched over this rock, waiting until the conditions became just right, until the moss and algae evolved enough to walk and talk, sacrificing everything that we had to babysit these insignificant _humans _for millennia. We could have given this planet _paradise_, created a second Eden, but you and your two human pets didn't want that. So no, we don't have to stop _crap_ anymore." He scoffed, suddenly amused. "The two of you will have no one but yourselves to blame when the demons start peeling off your skin, or when one of Eves bloodthirsty beasts is tearing you limb from limb."

Castiel can feel that Dean is very close to breaking and stabbing Remiel through the heart with the Angel blade. He knows that if he wants to convince Remiel to help- or at the very least get some information out of him, he needs to work fast.

"You will die. If you stay like this, if things remain as they are, you will fade from existence the moment that your vessel's bodily functions cease. I know that you don't want that-"

Remiels smile widens. "That's where your wrong, Castiel."

And then, suddenly, Remiel lets himself fall backwards, into the holy fire. Castiel barely has enough time to register what has happened, barely enough time to throw himself infront of Dean before Remiel bursts into flames and then explodes.

Death by holy fire is supposed to be one of the most painful ways that an angel can die. Castiel has never actually seen it happen- the closest that he came before was that Molotov that he threw at Michael. That had not been enough to kill the archangel, of course, especially since it was more of a ball of fire rather than a ring. But even then, the sound had been deafening.

This time was worse. The screeching sound seems to have physical weight, and from the flames the blue white light that is Remiels true form explodes outward, shattering everything in its path.

It hits him, burns through him, and he has just enough time to hope that whatever protection his fragile body has provided Dean is enough before blacking out.

_The light was blinding. It burned brighter than any star that Castiel had ever seen, but without any of the accompanying warmth. Rather, it seemed to be absorbing warmth, leaving the air around it as cold and lifeless as the endless, empty spaces that lay beyond the edges of the universe. It hurt to look at, hurt in a way that there weren't words to describe._

_His thoughts were fragmented, panicked. But he knew, with an absolute certainty, that he had to get away from that light, had to get as far away as he could. If he didn't, then it would swallow him whole, burn its way through him until there was nothing left._

His eyes jolt open and he lets out a sound that is far too weak to really be called a scream.

"Hey, you're okay. It's okay." There are hands on his shoulders, forcing him to keep still. Around him, there is only darkness. He can see nothing, and for a panicked moment, he thinks that he must have gone blind. But then the darkness around him begins to change, sliding into familiar colors and shapes. He blinks them into focus, tries to calm his ragged breathing.

_It's gone._ He thinks, not entirely sure what 'it' is. _It's gone, and you're safe now. Safe in the dark._

"Are you unhurt?" He asks. His vision is still blurry, and his thoughts are still disjointed. He can't quite focus on what he knows must be Deans face, can't see if there has been any damage. Just looking at an angels true form can cause a humans eyes to burn themselves out of their sockets. Castiel cannot imagine the amount of damage that would be done if a human was hit by a wave of exploding grace. But there is a smell all around him, the unmistakable smell of burning meat.

"Am I- shit, Cas, I'm fine. Are you…" Dean trails off.

Castiel blinks, and everything snaps back into focus. Every part of him feels like it has been dragged over broken glass and he understands, quite suddenly, that he must have died. Again.

"How long was I out?"

"About twenty minutes. I thought- I mean, you looked like you were freaking barbequed, man. What the Hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, really."

Dean lets out a slight laugh, but it doesn't sound genuine. It sounds more like pressurized air escaping from an overheating boiler valve then actual human laughter. Castiel has the sudden mental image of Dean pulling himself back up after the blast, finding his body- _freaking barbequed – _and then having to wait, for almost half an hour as he was slowly put back together again.

"We-" Dean says, voice firm, "Are _not_ doing that again."

They had stopped trying to track down the other angels after that. Things settled into a comfortable enough pattern. They kept an eye on the news for any potential signs of demons rising, of some ominous sign of world-ending destruction and had so far found nothing. Things were quiet.

That is, until one day, Dean handed him a cutout from a newspaper.

"A bank robbery?"

Dean was grinning. "Not just any bank robbery. Look at the article."

Castiel read. It soon became clear why this article had attracted Deans attention. In addition to opening up the bank vault the robbers had apparently drained the guards and several of the tellers of all blood.

"A _vampire_ bank robbery! How cool is that? I have been _waiting_ for a case like this."

Castiel looked at the grainy photo that accompanied the article, showing police cars and ambulances surrounding the bank. "Why?"

"Why? Dude, its _vampire bank robbers._ This is the perfect chance for you to learn how to hunt. You could not ask for a better starter case."

Castiel blinked. He supposed that he saw Deans point. They had made frustratingly little progress on the whole 'angel problem'. They had been fortunate so far in that no dark force had tried to take advantage of the absence of the angels yet. But it was only a matter of time before someone did, and when that happened, Castiel could not be slowing Dean down. He nodded.

"Awesome." Dean said, still grinning.

So they had left, packing everything that they needed into the trunk of the Impala and heading out onto the road. Castiel cannot remember the last time he has seen Dean this excited about anything.

Things seem good for the first time in a long time.

So it's really only natural that everything goes terribly wrong.

"Damn it, Cas, you can't just go up to people and ask them if they saw a vampire. People are going to think that you're crazy."

"But she was in the bank when the vampires attacked. Why would she not believe us when she herself witnessed the truth?"  
"Because, man, people can convince themselves of all sorts of things if they really want to believe them. Just because someone saw something doesn't mean that they're going to believe it."

"So then what should I say? That vampires don't exist?"  
"No, just- don't say anything, okay? Let the witness fill in the blanks on their own, and then just ask for details based on what they say. Got it?"  
"I think so." Castiel muttered, looking down.

"Okay. Now just wait over here for a little while- I'll see if I can smooth things over."

Dean went back over to the witness, and started lying. The woman was clearly suspicious of him at first, but within a few minutes, she was eagerly sharing the details of what she had seen that day in the bank.

He didn't understand why he was so bad at this. Dean made it look so easy.

A few minutes later, Dean was walking back. "Okay, so this is weird- apparently the vampires didn't steal any cash at all, just the contents of one safe deposit box."

"What was in the box?"  
"No idea, but I got the address of the guy who owns it. Let's go find out."

An hour or so later, they were sitting on the couch of an extremely nervous businessman.

The man paced as he talked. "I mean, all things considered, I got off easy. They left all the cash- the bonds that I had stashed in the safe deposit box, and the stock too, not that it's worth much anymore. They just took this old coin that my grandma gave me when she died."  
"What kind of coin?" Dean asked, suddenly interested.

"I don't know. I think it was Sumerian, or Zoroastrian or something- point is it was old. I tried to find a collector a couple times- not that I wanted to sell it or anything, just to see what it was worth, but no one ever seemed to be able to pin down exactly what it was."

"Was their anything on it? A carving of some kind?"  
"There was… a tree, I think. It was pretty worn out. Like I said, it was old. But it's weird though isn't it? That that was all that they took? I mean, I heard that they didn't even open any of the other safety deposit boxes. It's almost like… they knew exactly what they were looking for. I mean, is that coin really all that valuable?"

"We'll look into it." Dean said, smiling. "Thank you, you've been a big help."

"Not a problem, detective." 

A few minutes later they were sitting in the Impala, looking at the outside of the man's apartment.

"So what do you think that we're looking at here? Cursed object? Ancient magical artifact? What do a bunch of vampires want with some old coin?"

"They may intend to use it in a ritual of some kind- or to use it to communicate with the spirit of its previous owner."

"So the vampires are trying to talk to ghosts now? Man, that is insane."  
"It's just one possible explanation Dean."

"Well, it's what I'm going with until we learn differently." Dean says, starting the car and driving off.

They end up tracking the vampires down to a massive abandoned building outside of town.

"Alberto's Meat Packing. Well that sounds nice." Dean said, reading a weather worn sign that had been painted on the side of the brick building. "You know, I've always wondered how all these monsters manage to find these places. Do you think that there's a 'Wanted: Creepy Abandoned Warehouse' section on Craigslist?"

Castiel looked at Dean "What is Craigslist?"

"It's this website- you know what, never mind, it's not important. You think we should go in?"

"That would be unwise. We still don't know how many vampires are in there."  
"Well, there's only one car, so there can't be more then like, six of them. We can probably take them."

"We don't have a plan-"

"Sure we do. Cut off their heads with machetes. Come on man, it'll be fun."

Before Castiel can say anything else, Dean has handed him a large machete and is running towards the front door, leaving Castiel with no choice but to follow him inside.

Inside was dark. Many of the windows had been haphazardly boarded up, blocking out the sun. The air was stiff, stale, and smelled like wet earth and rotting wood. Underneath that smell was something else, the unmistakable odor of blood.

Castiel blinks, allows his eyes the time to adjust to the darkness. The limits of his senses were maddeningly frustrating. How did humans live like this their entire lives?

He scans the room for any signs of movement, sees nothing. But there are at least fifteen different blind spots in this room alone that someone could be hiding in, so that does not reassure him.

Something moves, just for a moment in the corner of his eye and he spins around, sees nothing. Except- something is there. He is sure of it.

"Dean." He whispers, pointing. "This way."

At the far end of the room, against the wall, is a series of large walk in freezers. Not functional anymore, of course; they are emptied out and broken, their doors hanging off of their hinges.

All except one.

In the middle, there is one freezer that seems to be in better condition than all of the others. It's door sits firmly closed. Castiel stares at the closed door for a long time, as a strange, unexplainable feeling of terror clawed at him. The door didn't seem to be locked. That seemed wrong, somehow. Dangerous.

He approached the door, despite every instinct telling him otherwise, grasped the handle and pulled it open.

Inside is dark, dirty like all the others. But unlike the other freezers, this one isn't empty. Inside, is a girl- _just a child- _who's pale and pallid complexion sits in stark contrast to her dark, dirty surroundings. She is hanging from one of those meat hooks that are attached to the ceiling, and a long gash runs across her neck.

There is no chance at all that she is still alive. There is blood on the floor below her, but not nearly enough. Had the vampires fed on her before killing her?

_No. That's not right._

Behind him, Dean takes a sharp intake of breath. "Shit. How old do you think she was?"

_Just a child. She was just a child, how could you? You promised that you would help us-_. His internal voice suddenly no longer sounds like his own, but that of a memory that had long since been buried.

He shook the memory out of his mind. _Focus._

There was something wrong here. Something besides the morally reprehensible act that had clearly taken place. He tried to see what it was, but some sort of dam had been opened in his mind and he couldn't seem to focus on the situation at hand.

_The gash!_ He realized suddenly.

The girl hadn't been bitten- she had had her throat cut open. The vampires had saved her blood for later.

_But why?_

He didn't get much time to think about it, because at that exact moment, the vampires attacked.

_To be continued…_

(I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, I'm evil)


	7. A Meeting with Mother

AN: Yeah, so this fic is rapidly becoming more and more complicated. As much as I love this 'multiple viewpoints' thing, I'm beginning to see some of the potential problems with it. Like when you end a chapter on a cliffhanger but then for plot reasons need the next chapter to be an only tangently-related Purgatory chapter. (Sorry about this in advance)

But hey, we're finally going to see some more of the changes I made to the shows mythology, (namely, Eve and the nature of Purgatory) so that's exciting. I just get the feeling that there was so much potential about that concept that was left unexplored due to a lack of budget. Also, it always annoyed me how easily Eve was taken care of in the show (because seriously, phoenix ashes? As in the remains of a creature that she created?) I always thought she should have been a massively powerful creature of near eldritch proportions. Hopefully I managed to accurately portray that here.

**SAM**

He found Madison curled up against a rock, twitching slightly. He knew, logically, that the twitching was not a good sign, but for the moment he was just so glad that she was still alive at all that he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Madison! Are you okay?"  
Then he got closer and abruptly changed his mind. _This looks really, really bad._

Madison's hair hung in wet and tangled clumps to a face that was running with sweat. On the shoulder near where she had been stabbed, inflamed boils filled with some strange brownish-yellow pus appeared on her skin, which had become pale and otherwise colorless. Her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils were mere pinpricks.

"Holy- What should I do? What do you need me to do?"  
She grabbed his arm- her grip seemed remarkably strong, considering her condition. "Y-you…"  
Her voice was so weak that he could barely hear her. "Do you- see that rock?" She motioned to a large, jagged rock sitting against a nearby tree.  
"No." Sam said, not wanting to hear the rest of her request. "Madison, no. I am not killing you, not again."  
"Then go." She didn't even try to convince him. That made it worse, somehow. "You need- to find Eve. She can explain- she can help you."  
"Madison, I am not leaving you here to die."  
"I'm going to die anyway."

"There's got to be a cure- an antidote for the poison, something!"

"There's not. Sam it's going to be dark soon. You have to go."  
"I don't know the way!" He said, voice frantic. "Don't you get it, Madison, you have to stay alive, I don't know where I'm going otherwise."

She blinked as her fevered mind seemed to process this. "You're right. Help me up."

Sam pulled her up, wrapped her arm over his shoulders. Her skin was cold, and damp. Her eyes had fixed on something ahead.

"We need to go. We have to find Eve before something in this forest finds us."

"Right. We'll find Eve, and then she'll help you get better."  
Madison kept her eyes fixed on some vague point in the distance. "If we're going to have this conversation, then we need to have it while walking, Sam."

"She'll help you, right? I mean, you said that she was like- your mother or something. She has to care."

"Of course she cares- look, Sam, I promise, I'll tell you everything I know, just so long as you _get moving._"

"Right, of course." He started walking, following Madison's gaze into the forest.

Madison was silent for a while, giving Sam enough time to really process how ridiculous this whole situation was.

_None of this is even real._

This was all just another of Lucifer's mind games, it had to be. There was no way that he had been freed from Hell only to be summoned into some bizarre pocket dimension full of monsters where valleys ate people and Madison could turn into a gigantic wolf. The entire thing was just so unbelievable, and yet here he was, trying desperately to save the life of the decidedly not-real Madison.

"Madison- how did you do that- gigantic wolf transformation thing? I mean, I know for a fact that you couldn't do that when I- when you died."

Madison coughed slightly. "Eve- She gave me that ability when she sent me to find you. That's what she does- she makes us stronger."

"Right." It wasn't much of an explanation, but Sam supposed that it made as much sense as anything else. "So tell me- how did the Biblical Eve end up birthing a bunch of monsters?"

"Well, you know the story."

"Did she seriously eat an apple and ruin paradise?"

Madison gave a weak laugh. "No- like I said, it's a metaphor."

"A metaphor for _what_?"

"You should probably ask her." Madison said, voice solemn. "We're here."  
Sam looked around, not seeing anything.

"It's over this next hill."

Sam adjusted his grip on Madison's arm, climbing up the hill. It was steeper then it looked, and he was winded by the time that he reached the top. Then he looked down at the valley below, and felt his heart skip a beat.

Sam wasn't sure _how _he had managed to get this close before seeing it. The tree was truly massive, it's trunk spanning nearly the entire valley floor and sprouting hundreds of thick, twisting branches.

_I must have thought the branches were trees._

It was the only explanation that Sam could come up with as to why he hadn't seen the tree during his approach.

"We call it the _First Tree_." Madison said, voice reverent. "This is where it all started."

"With the apple?"

"_Metaphor,_ Sam."

"Right- I knew that. Sorry, it's just- my brain doesn't really seem to be working right now."

"It's ok. I got the same way when I first saw it. Come on, let's go?"  
"Are you sure it's okay?" Suddenly, it felt like he was trespassing on sacred ground.

"You will be fine. Like I said, Eve wants to see you."

"But why? Why does she want to see me?"

Madison gave a weak shrug. "I don't know. I didn't ask."

He walked down, feeling his sense of awe at the sheer _size_ of this tree growing with every step he took. It's bark was a deep, dark brown, and it seemed to be just so- _solid._ He didn't know how to explain the feeling, but looking at the tree felt like looking at a massive formation stone. He could tell somehow, that there was no weaknesses in this wood, no cracks or pockets of air to be found. It was rock solid, all the way through.

They got close, closer than Sam felt comfortable being to something so old.

"It was good of you to come, Sam Winchester."

Sam felt a sudden chill. The words had sounded less like a voice and more like a storm wind, or the low creaking crack of glacial ice.

There was movement, and for a brief moment, Sam was convinced that the tree itself had spoken. But then the shape separated itself from the tree, and took the form of a woman.

She seemed to be made of the same dark, stone-like wood that formed the massive tree, and the fact that she was moving with apparent ease did nothing to ease the sense of unfathomable _solidity, _of that stiff and unforgiving _presence_ that the tree had.

"I saw what you did." She continued. "Taking control of your body back from Lucifer. I was very impressed."

"Thank you." Sam said, suddenly unable to think of anything else to say. Her eyes seemed to almost glow against her dark skin. They were a clear white, with no hint of a pupil. He vaguely remembered Lilith, the first demon, and wondered suddenly if there was some connection between the two.

She came closer, much faster than Sam would have thought possible. Her white eyes stared into his, searching for something.

"You must tell me how you did it."

"Did it?" He understood what she was asking, but seemed incapable of forming a coherent response.

"You defied the angels plans for you, and instead single-handedly sealed not one, but two archangels in Hell. You must tell me how you did this."

"I-" Sam paused, remembering suddenly why he had come here in the first place. "I'm not going to tell you anything until you help my friend."

Eve blinked, and Sam hoped that he had sounded braver then he felt.

"My friend- Madison. You sent her to find me. She got hurt, poisoned. She needs help. I'm not saying anything until you help her."

Eve seemed to notice Madison for the first time. Madison had collapse the moment Sam had let go of her arm, coughing up blood. Eve looked from her, and then back to Sam. "Why have you not helped her?"

"Because I _can't_. You have to do it."

"Very well."

Sam blinked, and all of a sudden Eve was by Madison's side, resting her hands against of Madison's temples. Madison stopped coughing, and looked up with an expression of pure _relief._

Eve gave her hands a sudden twist and Madison collapsed, head bending at an odd angle.

"What did you just do?"

"I helped her die, like you wanted me to." She looked at him, eyes glowing.

"You were supposed to give her an _antidote_."  
"There is no cure for basilisk venom. It would have been a slow death otherwise. This way was easier." There wasn't a single trace of guilt or empathy in her voice.

_A monster. I'm talking to a monster._

But he had known that already, hadn't he? If what Madison had said was true, then she was the Queen of monsters. Standing still, Eve seemed to be growing from the ground like a twisted root formation, all gnarling joints stretching thin and elongated towards the sky. Her skin had an almost bark-like texture.

Suddenly, she moved, and in a blink she was right next to him. There was the smell of earth, of the stale air inside of some deep underground cavern.

"So how did you do it? How did you defeat Lucifer?"

Sam opened his mouth, closed it again. With Eve this close, it was hard for him to remember that none of this was real. Which was… strange. He had never felt like this with any of Lucifer's other hallucinations.

"It was my brother. I just didn't want to have to hurt my brother. That's all it was."

"Interesting." Eve said, white eyes searching his face for something more. Her gaze felt like thousands of crawling ants. "Do you think you could do it again?"  
"Do _what?_"

"Defeat an archangel. Do you think you could do it again?"

_Where was Lucifer even going with this?_ This entire scenario had been downright bizarre right from the beginning.

He didn't give her and answer. She didn't seem to be expecting one. "I think that you could. Given the right tools, of course. That's why I went through the trouble of pulling you out of Hell. Bringing you here was not easy. Lucifer did not want to let you go. But I was persistent. Creative. Creativity has always been something that the angels don't understand. You know this, yes?"

"Yeah, what's your point?"

"I brought you here for a purpose."

"And what's that?"

"The angels. I want you to kill them."

Sam can't help it. He laughs.

"I will give you the strength that you need. And even now, my children are preparing a ritual to bring you back to the world of the living."

"Well that's nice of them." Sam can't seem to stop laughing, even as her eyes stare at him, searching for something that he can't define.

She pulls back, suddenly. "You don't think this is real, do you?"

"So what. It's never mattered what I think before, has it?"

Some undefinable expression passed over Eve's face. She moved her hand back, grabbed the back of Sam's head. Instinctively, he tries to pull back, and finds that he can't.

"The angels have toyed with you your entire life. They have tormented you after your death to the point where you now question reality. Now they are weak, vulnerable. I do not know why, but I do know that this is an opportunity that cannot be wasted."  
The bubbling, insane laughter is suddenly gone as Sam's brain shifts into full panic-mode. He is far too close to this _thing_ for his liking. He can smell rotting meat on her warm breath, and the whites of her eyes illuminates the skin of her face, revealing a rough, almost bark-like texture.  
_Monsters don't have to ask for permission._

The thought comes unbidden and runs on rapid fire repeat though his mind.

"You will return to Earth. And you will kill the angels." No part of what she says is a question. She does not try to convince him. She does not try to manipulate or threaten like a demon would, or to coldly command like an angel. She says it as though it were a property of physics, or chemistry. It was statement of fact, nothing more.

She pulled him in close, and bit down on his shoulder, right beside his neck.

_Well this is different. _He thought, before everything shifted focus.

The sensation really couldn't be described with words. It was if all of a sudden he was looking at himself from the outside. He saw the dark, thick liquid spread though his veins from where Eve had bit him. He saw the massive tree he was standing near , felt its insurmountable age in a way that he hadn't before.

It was as old as humanity- or at least as old as humanity as he understood it. This tree was the very foundation on which civilization had been built upon. _The First Tree._ The first tree to have been planted by human hands. It had been Eve that planted it, he understood suddenly, Eve that had cared for it, cultivated it.

How strange that must have seemed to the other early humans. They must have wondered why she went to all the trouble- why spend so much effort growing a tree when the forests grew just fine on their own. They regarded her and her tree an odd curiosity, and nothing more.

Thing sped forward. The images came in flashes, crystalized memories that he couldn't place the context of. It was like flipping through someone else's photo album. Some of the images had emotions attached to them

There was a memory of a man, who was different from all the others. Smarter, stronger, seemingly immune to all harm. Eve had loved him, and perhaps still did, but something had gone wrong. Someone had found out.

The memory shifted to that of a canyon bathed in red light that was cast from strange, unidentifiable symbols that burned on the canyon's walls and floors. The symbols were formed in a massive circle around the man. He was bleeding, even though he didn't seem to have any physical wounds. Around the edges of the circle were several dark, silent, emotionless figures. One of them was saying something- a spell of some sort. The fiery glow of the symbols increased in intensity and, suddenly, the earth below him opened up, and a massive column of fire burst forth from the circle. It reached up, almost to the top of the canyon, and in the flames Sam saw the sillouete of wings, burning away.

_An angel- he was an angel._

Was. Somehow, Sam knew that whatever that ritual was hadn't killed him, but had done something far worse instead.

_Hell._

Sam didn't know how he knew this. It was as if the knowledge had just been passed directly to him, without the need for words.

"They didn't kill me. They didn't think that I was worth killing."

Sam jumps. The shift back to the here and now had been a sudden one, and unexpected.

"They were always underestimating us- us small, insignificant humans. But I changed. I evolved. I became something greater than human, something far more powerful. And now, so have you."

Sam struggles out of her grip. She lets him go. There is the coppery taste of blood in his mouth- he must have bit his own lip without realizing it.

"You can't just _do_ that!" He presses a hand against the wound, feeling the blood seeping out. His shoulder tingles as he feels something foreign enter his bloodstream.

_That's not fair._

The thought seems a little irrational, because if there was anything that he had learned in his messed up life it was that things just weren't fair. But still, when the angels had wanted to screw around with his life, they had at least made a show of asking for his permission first. Even Azazel- as screwed up as it had been, he had still had to _ask- _if it hadn't been for that deal that he made with Mom, then he never would have been able to do what he did_._ That was the way it was supposed to be- so long as you didn't make any deals with demons, so long as you were good and followed the rules, things would be okay. This was different. This was a baby antelope that gets eaten on one of those nature programs by a lion just because.

The tingling sensation spreads, and Sam gets angry. "So what? They sent your angel boyfriend to Hell and now you want revenge, is that what this is?"

Her face is stony, expressionless. "This has nothing to do with him. He is still trapped in Hell and I intend for him to stay there- the time spent there has no doubt changed him, and not for the better. But that day, I caught a glimpse of what they are- what they truly are, behind all their stained glass and pretty hymns. I've watched over the millennia as they spread their influence over the world- how many of humans do you think have died because of them? You of all people should know why they must be destroyed."

"But they aren't all like that!" Sam protests.

Eve is looking up to the leaves of her tree, seemingly no longer interested in the conversation. "Almost time now." She hums, eyes distant.

He tries to take a step forward, but his legs suddenly seem to be made out of jello and he falls over instead, hitting his knee on a rock on his way down.

"I don't expect that the transition will be pleasant for you. Change never comes easy."

There is something burning under his skin. It spreads like thick tar though his limbs, pooling at the tips of his fingers and toes.

_This is no dream, this is really happening!  
_What was that, a 'Rosemary's Baby' quote? Regardless, once the thought came, there was suddenly no room for doubt. This was no hallucination, or another one of Lucifer's mind games. It was real. The realization was entirely without evidence, but it was there, and it was unquestionable.

Eve is looking at him, impassive. Her bodies edges seem to be blending in with the massive tree behind her. Sam can't tell if she's really margining back into it, or if it's just a trick of the eyes. He suddenly feels far to disoriented to be sure. The earth below him seems to be shifting, circling in random spiraling patterns.

"My children will greet you on your return to Earth. They will help you learn how to use your new abilities.

_Oh Hell no._

He remembers how Cas, and even Gabriel in the end had fought against Armageddon, fought to protect humanity. They had both died for it too, killed by Lucifer. And regardless of how much Sam had tried to stop it, Cas had been killed with a snap of Sam's own fingers.

Sam couldn't change what had happened- but he sure as hell wasn't going to let himself be turned into some sort of angel-killing monster.

The world around him shifts even further, until it is something that barely even resembles a physical space. Sam is somewhere between, in the space between dimensions. He is moving away from the chaotically swirling brown colors of purgatory. There are other colors, all around him. To his left, he sees the scorched red and black of hell, and to his right is the steady blue green of Earth- of home. He can feel himself moving towards it, guided by some force similar to gravity.

For a brief moment, he can't help but be swept away by the shear awe of it all- he is seeing something that likely no one else has seen before him. The scope of it all is truly amazing. He ignores the pain and cranes his neck further and then he sees it.

It is made out of pure light, brighter than anything that he has ever seen. The sun was dim, a flickering candle in comparison. Sam thinks of the quasars, the ancient and massive clusters at the edge of the known universe, thinks of how they would be dwarfed by the size of this _thing. _

_Heaven._

It should be wonderful. It should be beautiful.

Except that it's not.

It's terrifying.

There is something _wrong_ with it, wrong in some fundamental way that there aren't words for. It was cold and all-consuming, and it needed to be stopped.

_This is the bite talking, not you. _

He forced his eyes away, just as he fell through the portal to Earth. He needed to be careful- he couldn't let himself turn into the weapon that Eve wanted him to be. He had dealt with bloodlust before.

_Right, because you did such a good job of that last time. _His brain unhelpfully added.

He shook the thought off. He would do better this time. He had to.

To be Continued…

I'm going to miss writing the Purgatory Chapters, they were trippy and fun. But at least now all the characters are in the same plane of existence, so the fic should be less fragmented for a while (hopefully).

Let me know what you think!


	8. Pain in the Neck

AN: I will say this though, writing in all these different POVs is a great way to keep the narration style fresh. They all seem to bring something different to the events going on around them. And for something as long and overly-complex as this is going to be, I think that's probably necessary.

**DEAN**

All things considered, Dean really should have suspected that things would turn out like this. The case had been weird right from the start, but he had been so distracted by the idea of 'vampire bank robbers' that he hadn't seen it until it was too late. But between the mysterious ancient coin of unknown origin and the dead little girl in the freezer, it was starting to look like some serious dark magic was about to take place that they were in no way prepared to deal with. And this was supposed to be an easy hunt.

Friggin' vampire bank robbers. They are nowhere near as fun of a hunt as he thought that they would be.

What they are instead, is _strong._ Dean had been right about the number- there was only three of them, and one of them was hanging back, watching from the shadows for some reason, so it was one-on-one. They _should_ have been easy to take care of. Except that these guys seem to be on some kind of vampire steroids or something because they hit way harder than they are supposed to be able to.

Dean staggers back, readjusts his grip on the machete. "Well, looks like somebody ate their Wheaties this morning."  
The vampire that he's fighting, some boney, pale and greasy-haired dude of vaguely European origin does not seem to have an appreciation for snark. He lunges, wielding a broken two-by-four like it's a medieval mace. Dean barely has enough time to duck his head from out of the path of the thing. The block of wood hits the brick wall instead and shatters into tiny little splinters. There is no way that a dude this wire-thin could do that normally.

You know, when Dean imagined a steroid-vampire before this moment (his brain goes weird places sometimes, sue him), he always pictured some dude that looked like what would happen if Mr T and a wild grizzly bear had a really pissed off baby. Not some toothpick-thin asshole that looked like he hadn't had a bath in three months.

_Maybe it's not vampire steroids, maybe it's vampire meth._

The thought made a bizarre amount of sense, and he had a brief mental image of Walter White from Breaking Bad wearing a Dracula cape.

"Vat's so funny?" The vampire asked in his thick accent, and it took all of Deans very limited self-control not to double over laughing right then and there.

"Nothing- it's nothing."

The normal back and forth rhythm of fighting resumes, though Dean is on the defensive way more then he would like.

Castiel doesn't seem to be having any more luck. If anything, he seems to be even worse off than Dean is- the vampire that he's fighting is some feral little kid that moves way faster than should be allowed. Fighting against a monster that looks like a kid is hard. Loosing against a monster that looks like a kid is harder, but for different reasons.

This is starting to piss him off. He _knows_ how to take care of a vampire, damn it, he's done it a million times before, this shouldn't be so hard.

_It's got to be vampire steroids._

The third vampire has still made no move to join the fight. That pisses Dean off even more, the fact that the vampires don't even think this is an all-hands-on-deck sort of situation.

The vampire watches, dark eyes cold, calculating. Dean can't really get a good look at the guy in between trying not to get killed, but he can tell that they guy is bad news. He can also tell that the dude seriously needs to trim his fingernails- the things look more like claws at this point.

So, to sum up the situation, you've got the European meth-head vampire, or 'Breaking Vlad' as Dean has decided to call him. You've got the feral child vampire- 'Little Miss No Sunshine' (ok, that name needs some work). Then finally there's the big boss vampire, who Dean has decided to call 'The Hangnail', as he really can't think of a clever name at the moment. All of them seem to be ridiculously overpowered and pissed as all Hell that their little ritual was interrupted.

So basically, the situation is crap.

Things manage to take a turn for the even crappier when Little Miss No Sunshine (and yes, Dean is going to keep calling her that until he thinks of a better name) does this weird flying-leap move and manages to wrap Cas up into something that might resemble a hug if it didn't involve so many, you know, teeth. Cas tries to get her off by body slamming into the nearest brick wall, but that seems to have no effect on the brat whatsoever. Dean is just about to head over there and help out when the kid suddenly jumps off and goes skidding backwards on all fours.

"Vat's wrong?" Breaking Vlad asks.

Little Miss No Sunshine (Sunshine for short, because that's starting to be a mouthful, even if it is only in Deans head) is still crouched down on the floor like some startled forest animal. There is blood dripping from her mouth. "He tastes weird. Not bad, just… different. Like he's not really human."

Dean glances over at Cas, who is clutching a hand over a gaping shoulder wound (and seriously, who the Hell bites somebodies shoulder?), and has something almost resembling an idea.

"Yeah, well, that's because he isn't human."

Everyone turns to look at Dean and he has a brief moment to consider the fact that he really didn't plan this out, before continuing. "That's right. This guy right here- is an angel."

There is a brief flash of something resembling fear on the faces of Breaking Vlad and Sunshine, which means that despite all logic and reason this might actually work.

"A real life angel, could turn all of you to dust just as easily as blinking." Dean turns to Cas, grinning, before suddenly realizing just why _'Let's bluff our way out of here'_ is such a bad idea. Cas, as it turns out, does not seem to know what bluffing is.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas asks, looking at Dean like he is insane.

Dean tries to mentally project_ 'just go along with it'_ as best as he can, but since telepathy isn't really a thing, it doesn't really seem to be working. And Cas is hopelessly clueless at picking up nonverbal conversational cues even in the most basic of situations, so it's really no wonder that he doesn't understand Deans (admittedly, not all that great) plan. Of course, by this point it's too late to back out, so Dean just keeps going with it.

He forces a laugh. "Believe me, you really don't want to get on an angels bad side - You've all heard of the plagues of Egypt, right? And that giant flood that covered the entire earth. They had to repopulate the entire earth with just one boat. Which really explains a lot about the world, don't you think? I mean, the inbreeding must have been _terrible._"

Everyone is staring at him. By this point Dean's plan has devolved from 'bluffing' to 'stall for time like an idiotic jackass'. Which, all things considered, seems to be working quite well, even if it isn't really accomplishing anything.

"Vat are you talking about?" Breaking Vlad asks, seemingly genuinely confused.

"I- was trying to distract you."

The vampire looks around the empty meat packing plant. "From vat?"  
"I don't know, man. Look, can we just go back to me getting my ass kicked? This is embarrassing."

No one is moving. The silence has become downright awkward. Sunshine still hasn't moved from her crouching position on the floor.

It occurs to Dean that if he dies now, it will officially be the most socially awkward death ever.

"Hey Cas, if you've got any super-secret Fallen Angel powers that you didn't tell me about, now would be a really good time to use them."

"He's one of the _Fallen_?" The question comes suddenly from Sunshine, who sounds almost panicked.

Her reaction is surprising. Dean glances over to Cas. "_Do_ you have super-secret Fallen Angel powers? Because that would actually be pretty great right now."

Cas shoots Dean a withering look. "Dean, I've already explained to you that I am powerless."

"A Watcher, then?" Hangnail steps out from the shadows. His voice is much, much deeper then Dean had imagined. "What is a Watcher doing pretending to be a hunter?"

Cas looks at Hangnail, and there is a brief flash of recognition. Castiel's expression immediately hardens. "And what is the Alpha of Vampires doing robbing banks?" Dean has no idea what an 'Alpha' is, but the cold way that Cas says it, and the fact that Cas is staring at the vampire like he's trying to make him spontaneously combust with his mind makes Dean realize that whoever, or whatever this Hangnail guy is, he was serious business.

"We needed one last ingredient to complete our ritual"

Sunshine and Breaking Vlad back away as soon as Hangnail, or the 'Alpha' or whatever approaches. They didn't even bother taking Deans machete away from him, though Dean can somehow tell, on some weird level, that this guy couldn't be killed by normal weapons anyway.

_We've walked right into the lions den, haven't we?_

The Alpha pulls an ancient looking coin out of nowhere and Dean briefly wonders if the vampire practices sleight of hand in his free time.

"A coin from the place of my birth- a civilization whose name has been lost over time- you angels saw to that. My people refused to obey you, so you killed them. You burned our temples, and crushed our cities to dust. And you made the world forget about us. You would have killed me too if Eve had not saved me."  
There is an unreadable expression on Castiel's face. "Eve did not save you. She turned you into a monster."

"It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. Tell me, Watcher, how many humans have you killed?"

Dean was starting to get pissed. There was no way that a dude that literally survived by drinking human blood had any right to talk to Cas like that. And sure, the angels did some really screwed up things in the past. Dean had seen enough to feel pretty confident that most of the angels were nothing more than gigantic dicks. But Cas wasn't _like_ the rest of them. And he didn't deserve the crap that the vampire was laying on him.

Then Dean remembered that he was still holding the machete.

He looked around. Literally no one was paying any attention to him, they were all too busy listening to that manicure-needing vampire ass-clown monologue. Dean judges the distance between himself and Breaking Vlad- not far at all. He figures that if he gets lucky, he can get a good swing at him before anyone realizes what he's doing. After that- well, Dean's not really sure, but he can cross that bridge when he gets to it. He edges himself closer, strengthening his grip on the machete.

_Here goes nothing._

He swings, and Breaking Vlad's head hits the floor before he even sees Dean coming. Dean lets out a triumphant "HA! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, _Heisenberg_!"

He doesn't have long to savor the victory though, as Sunshine lets out a cry of rage and charges at him. And seriously, it had been one thing to watch her fighting Cas, but actually trying to dodge her attacks himself was a _nightmare_. She moved inhumanly fast, so fast that his eyes could barely keep up with her. He stepped backwards, tripped on something and found himself falling to the floor.

_Shit, this is bad._

He saw her leaping towards him, fangs still red with blood. He realizes, vaguely, that he is probably going to die.

_God, Lisa's going to be so pissed at me. She made me promise that I wouldn't do that._

There is a flash of movement, and suddenly Sunshine isn't leaping towards him anymore.

Dean blinks, takes a moment to reassess the situation, when he sees Cas. It looked like Cas had ditched his conversation with Hangnail and had straight-up football tackled Sunshine before she could get to Dean.

It didn't look like either of them had made a very graceful landing. Sunshine's teeth were buried up to the gums in Cas's forearm as she tried to push him off of her. Cas is reaching for his knife with the hand that isn't currently attached to a vampire, but can't quite seem to grasp it.

Dean decides that now is a good time to get off his ass, and he scrambles over to them.

He glances up. Hangnail hasn't tried to intervene at all this entire time- rather, he seems to be content to be watching the events passively.

_He doesn't care. He doesn't care if we kill them._

Dean isn't really_ surprised_. That's just the way monsters are. The asshole is probably convinced that he can take both him and Cas on by himself, making the other two pretty irrelevant. But still, that's pretty cold.

Dean grips the machete tighter as he approaches. _She looks like a little kid._

He knew she wasn't, really. Vampires didn't age like humans, so she might be like 500 years old. But she _looked_ like one.

He thought of the other little girl, the one who had been tied up in the freezer and drained of her blood for whatever ritual that they were preparing. This one had probably helped kill her. She had probably lured her off of some playground somewhere, brought her to where the other vampires were waiting. She might have been the one that slit the girls throat, collected her blood.

Dean is suddenly aware that he's been standing there for longer than he should have. Cas is looking up at him, still holding her against the ground. The girl had started violently gnawing on Cas' arm in an attempt to get him off, but Cas doesn't even really seem to feel her. His face is blank, expressionless. With his free arm, he reaches up, grabs the machete from Deans hands. Dean lets him take it without really realizing it, and the next thing he knows, Cas brings the blade to the girls neck.

_Vampire. Not girl, vampire. And she was trying to kill us first. _

Even so, Dean finds that he doesn't want to look. There is something downright _unsettling_ about the image, about Cas' lack of hesitation, the brutal efficiency with which he gets the job done. Castiels eyes are cold, and for a brief moment, logic doesn't matter, and he feels a flash of fear towards his friend.

_Who are you? Who the hell are you, really?_

The moment passes as soon as soon as Cas stumbles up from the vampires body. Suddenly, Cas is just Cas again, and he's hurt, he's _bleeding_, and Dean had made him finish off a monster even as his arm was getting gnawed to ribbons just because he hadn't had the stomach to do his own damned _job_.

_You, Dean Winchester, are one selfish, hypocritical asshole. _

He pushes the offending suspicion deep into his mental box of 'let's never think about this again' and tries to smile. "Thanks for the save."

Cas looks at him. "That was an incredibly unwise course of action."

"I don't know, I think it helped even the odds at least a little- its two against one now. I bet we can take him."  
Cas is staring at Dean like he's some sort of idiot. "Dean, that is the _Alpha Vampire._"

"Dude, I'm _Dean Winchester,_ and I did not survive angels and demons so that I could get killed by a friggin' vampire. I don't care if he _is_ the vampire king."

Castiel's glare increases in intensity.

"_Is_ he the vampire king?"

Cas actually rolls his eyes, before turning to look at the remaining vampire. The vampire hasn't moved- he seems to be waiting for them to come to him, as he's blocking the only exit. He seems to be watching them, smiling slightly.

"You are Dean Winchester?" The vampire asks, sounding amused.

"Yeah, so what?"

"It is interesting that you are here."  
"Why is that?"

"Because," the vampire said, smile widening, "I'm about to bring your brother back to life."

To be continued…


	9. Interview with a Vampire

AN: Sorry about how delayed this is- I couldn't really figure out what to do with this chapter and then made the incredibly poor decision of trying to read a bunch of other fics for inspiration, which was really more of a distraction than anything. Anyway, I know how much you all are looking forward to a Winchester reunion, so here is… not that. Instead, hope that you enjoy a ton of introspection and an incredibly awkward dinner party. I did manage to explain pretty much all of the changes that I made to the season 6 timeline, which is all very important stuff, even if nothing really… happens.

Fortunately, we're pretty much done with the introductory stuff, and I can start ruining everyone's lives soon.

So let's get going!

* * *

**CASTIEL**

He hated feeling powerless, hated being unable to _do_ anything. The feeling clung tightly to him, burrowing its way inside his thoughts and nestling somewhere, like some unwelcome parasite underneath his skin. There was no way to shake it off, because it was true- he _was_ powerless. He couldn't even make a show of defiance, left alone as he was. He had tried hitting the walls of his makeshift cell, but that had done nothing other than bloody his knuckles and reinforce the knowledge that there was no escaping this- whatever this was.

He thought back, trying once again to piece together what had happened, to figure out what the vampire wanted.

There was no way that the vampire, Alpha or not, could pull Sam's soul from the Cage when even Castiel had failed. It was simply impossible, no matter how much he wished it to be otherwise.

Sam was his _friend_, and he did not deserve to be there, in Hell. He had been used like a _puppet_ for his entire life by both the angels and the demons in their attempts to begin the Apocalypse, and in those last moments he had chosen to sacrifice _everything_ to stop it. That his sacrifice had been met with an inescapable eternity of torment at the hands of the Archangels he had died to stop- it was the height of injustice.

Castiel took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He couldn't afford to behave irrationally, not now.

It had to be a lie, an attempt to distract them that had obviously worked. He and Dean had both been far too flabbergasted by the outrageous claim that they hadn't even seen the other vampires, hadn't even realized that the Alpha had reinforcements waiting in the back rooms until they were already upon them. Castiel isn't really sure what happened after that, but he knows that he was knocked unconscious at some point, only to wake up here, locked in what looked to be an empty storage room somewhere. Castiel suspected that it was some part of the abandoned meat-packing plant, but it could just as easily be somewhere completely different. Cut off as he is, there is no way for him to get a feel for his relative global position. It is a highly unnerving feeling.

Even more unnerving is the fact that he was alone when he woke up.

Castiel thinks back to what he can remember from before he blacked out. The last thing that he saw was Dean, fighting what was no doubt a losing battle against the sudden onslaught of vampires. Castiel doesn't want to think that they may have killed him. Illogical as it may be, he feels like he should _know_ somehow, if that had happened.

It's a ridiculous notion. He can no better sense if Dean is alive or not then he can sense his location.

Castiel slams his body against the door one more time. It's no use- it has been reinforced by _something,_ and Castiel briefly wonders if the vampires had intentionally repurposed this room to serve as a makeshift cell. Castiel looked around, not knowing what he expected to find. The room was just as bare as it had been when he had first woken up- not a scrap of furniture or anything that could potentially be used as a tool, just plain grey concrete. He could only wait, as his mind went to darker and darker places of what might have happened- and what might happen next.

It was very probable that Dean was dead. And it was likely that the only reason that they hadn't killed Castiel was that they knew that they couldn't. Being trapped like this, especially by a creature that knew what Castiel was, was something of a worst case scenario for him.

Perhaps they wanted his blood. That was likely what this room had been constructed for- a place to house kidnapped humans long enough to extract as much blood as they could produce. Castiel knew that he could produce quite a lot, and the vampires didn't need to worry about extracting it slowly.

Or perhaps they simply wanted him out of the way. Perhaps they would just leave him here. That thought was worse somehow, then the one that came before it. It wasn't even the thought of the inevitable cycles of starvation, but the idea of just being left here, alone, for months or even years was too terrible to imagine.

He tries to calm himself down. He tells himself that they haven't killed him yet- instead they have for some reason wrapped his wounds in thick white gauze. He appreciates it, though the effort baffles him. They know what he is- even if they hadn't figured it out before, they would have noticed the carvings, the only scars that would not go away no matter how many times he died. They would have seen them when they were dressing his wounds. They must know that he can't truly die, and it would have been much easier for them to simply snap his neck and have the wounds heal on their own.

The vampires had also apparently changed his clothes while he was unconscious.

That bothers him, he realizes. He doesn't know why- the concept of privacy is a new and confusing concept to him. When he was an angel, before he rebelled, even his thoughts could not technically be called his own. The fact that humans place so much value on what was considered _theirs_ had been incomprehensible to him. _This is mine. You can't take it, it belongs to me. _He briefly wonders if that is why he is currently feeling uncomfortable- that, in his newly depowered state, he has developed what Dean calls 'personal space'.

He doesn't think so. He places no particular importance on the human form, and this body still does not feel like his, even if he is the only one currently residing in it.

_They must have seen the scars._

He rolls the button on one of his sleeves between his fingers, realizing that is it. The scars, strange as it may seem, were _his._ They marked him as one of the Fallen- The other angels had merely been cast out, had been made mortal. The carvings made him different, the only one of the angels to fall this far during the mass exodus out of Heaven.

He didn't want anyone else to see them, but not because of the shame that they were supposed to represent.

They belonged to him, in a way that nothing else did.

Before, that would have seemed ridiculous to him- when he had first Fallen, all that he could think about was how unfair it was that he alone was being punished- after all, he had helped save the world, and then afterword he had done all that he could to promote peace in Heaven. He had rejected the demon Crowley's offer and had peacefully negotiated an acceptable compromise with Raphael that would have avoided both human and angel casualties. He had done, as far as he could tell, the right thing. But in the past few weeks, during the long hours where he was failing to fall asleep, he had come to the realization that this wasn't unfair at all.

When he first realized that the Apocalypse had been averted he had been filled with a sense of righteous purpose. After all, he had been brought back to life by God, which was something that no other angel could say. He had constructed many fanciful plans of teaching the other angels what he had learned about free will, of raising an army and forcibly seizing control of Heaven away from Raphael, who had begun ruling by default as he was the only Archangel left.

But then he had been humbled after realizing that he was unable to save Sam, and when Raphael had come to him with a plea for peace he had listened. Raphael had grown tired of the fighting, of angels dying needlessly. He proposed that the Heavenly Host cut their losses and relocate to a different part of the galaxy, leaving the humans to settle their own affairs. Castiels own disastrous attempts at explaining free will had left him feeling that that would be the best option- Especially after Balthazar, the only angel who had seemed even willing to try it had nearly destroyed all of Barcelona in an exceptionally wild night of partying. After that, Castiel realized why the angels had never been allowed to have free will- it was too dangerous. Angels were far too powerful to ever be able to coexist alongside humanity.

Eventually, he had relented. Raphael had not asked for much- a show of surrender followed by some re-education and a few centuries of imprisonment. It had hurt Castiels pride to accept even such a symbolic punishment, but it seemed a small price to pay to ensure humanities safety. And the angels would certainly be happier, finally being allowed to fly amongst the stars again.

The official occasion of his surrender had quickly turned into a public humiliation spectacle of almost comical proportions. Castiel could only watch, dumbfounded as the angels condemned him for his 'treacherous acts', some of which were true, but most of which were not. The accusations had grown more and more cartoonishly inaccurate as the event went on, and by the end of it, he had been accused of not only having been allied with Lucifer the entire time, trading Heavens secrets, and, most ridiculously, that he had also engaged in a multitude of illicit sexual activities with the demon Crowley.

He had stumbled off the stage, thinking that perhaps a long prison sentence would really not be all that bad at the moment.

Castiel has replayed that incident countless times in his head. It is the last memory that he has before the Fall, and he can't help but feel as though it is significant somehow.

He hasn't told Dean how bad things were for him in Heaven before the Fall. Dean would no doubt take it as more evidence that Raphael was somehow responsible for the Fall, and Castiel has become convinced that is not true. Raphael would not have wished for the destruction of the Heavenly Host under any circumstances, especially not one that would leave them all trapped on a planet that he considered to be so far beneath him.

Gradually, a new theory had come to him, settling uncomfortably in Castiels chest and refusing to let go.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the door opened. There are two vampires on the other side of the door, both dressed in dark, expensive looking suits.

"The Alpha will see you now."

Castiel nods, knowing that there is no point in arguing. They lead him out of the room and into a hallway. He is suddenly quite positive that he is no longer in the abandoned meat packing plant. The building looks too new, too well maintained. They walk up a flight of stairs, and go through a thick, reinforced door and into a lavishly decorated living house. Castiel looks at his new surroundings with blatant confusion.

"My apologies for your previous accommodations. We couldn't afford to take any chances until your identity was confirmed."

Castiel turned toward the voice and found himself once again face to face with the Alpha vampire.

"You are Castiel, correct? The Rebel?"

Castiel doesn't know what to make of the fact that the vampire knows his name, or that he apparently has a reputation. He nods slowly.

The vampire motions to a large wooden dining table surrounded by expensive looking chairs. "Sit. Make yourself comfortable. We have much to discuss."

Castiel looks back and forth between the table and the vampire, growing more confused by the second. The Alpha is smiling politely. He glances backwards, eyeing the two vampires that have positioned themselves by the door. He looks back at the Alpha, and feeling incredibly self-conscious, he sits down. A short vampire at the side of the room is pouring a deep red liquid into a wine glass.

"We have much to discuss."

Castiel looks around the room again, and asks "Why go to all the trouble of bandaging my wounds?"

That- hadn't been what he was planning to say. He had wanted to ask about Dean, whether or not he was still alive, or about just what exactly they were planning to _do_ with him. But instead, he had gone and asked about something entirely irrelevant.

The Alpha did not seem entirely concerned. "I didn't want you dripping blood on my carpet. It was quite expensive." The vampire smirks. "Or are you wondering why we didn't just kill you and let them heal on their own?"

Castiel is careful not to let his expression change. "It would certainly have been more convenient."

The Alpha shrugs. "Perhaps. But it would have been incredibly rude, and you are our guest."

One of them pours a deep red liquid into a glass and offers it to Castiel. He looks at it in alarm. The Alpha smiles. "You don't need to worry, it's just wine. A good vintage, or so I'm told. Personally, I have no taste for it."  
Castiel took the glass, cautiously sniffed at it. It really did smell like wine. He still didn't drink.

"What did you do with Dean?"  
"The elder Winchester? Nothing at all. He had to be restrained, of course- the ritual was a time consuming and delicate process, and we couldn't afford any distractions. But we were careful to not cause any more physical harm then absolutely necessary."

Castiel felt a sudden itching feeling in his throat. As much as he wanted to believe that Dean was all right, he knew that there was no way that the vampires would let him live out of the goodness of their hearts. "Why?"

"Well, there's no reason to needlessly upset a new Alpha so soon after his rebirth."

Castiel squinted in confusion. Alpha? "Is that what that ritual was all about? Pulling some new monster out of Purgatory?"

"Of course, haven't you been paying attention? The ritual was completed just a few minutes ago."

"I don't understand." Castiel said. "Why would an Alpha care what happens to Dean?"

"Because he's his brother, of course."

_Alpha? Sam? _Castiel blinked, the vampires words finally clicking into place. It was well known amongst angels that Purgatory and Hell were very close- they were sister dimensions, both built to contain the creatures that Heaven found to be distasteful. And Eve had pulled souls from Hell before, before morphing them into monsters. Could she really have pulled Sam's soul from the Cage?

It seemed suddenly possible, at least theoretically. Because Purgatory and Hell were so close together, the amount of energy required to transport a soul from one dimension to another was greatly reduced. And Eve was strong. She had the power of all of Purgatory behind her, all of it's chaotic, hungry souls. It would have been difficult, but she could have done it.

_But why?_ That part still didn't make any sense. Why would she go through all the effort of pulling Sam's soul from the cage, when she and her monsters could turn humans with just a bite?

_Because she doesn't want just another monster. She wants an Alpha._

She had always picked her Alphas with great care. She could mold peoples bodies into pretty much any shape that she wanted, but their strength was always going to be dependent on the power of their soul.

Sam was the only person in the history of humanity to forcibly regain control from an angel- and what's more, he had taken his body back from an Archangel. Of course Eve would have taken notice.

Castiel blinked, realizing that he has been standing there, staring blankly at the Alpha, for longer than is considered to be socially acceptable. The Alpha vampire was watching him, waiting patiently for some kind of reaction.

"Is it done then? Was the ritual successful?"

"Yes. The boy is unconscious at the moment, and I don't expect this transition to be easy for him, but if he is strong enough to adapt, he will live."

"Then- you plan to let the both of them go?"

"Yes." The vampire answered.

Castiel sighed with relief. Dean was okay. And, even more miraculously, _Sam_ was okay. There was somehow no doubt that the vampires were telling the truth- the story was simply too ridiculous to be a lie. They would both be released and there was no doubt in Castiel's mind that the two of them would somehow manage to fix whatever it was that Eve had done to him. It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"Thank you." Castiel said, meaning it. "I know that you had your own motivations, but knowing that my friends are safe is a great comfort."

"Well, then I'm glad."

Castiel squinted at the Alpha, feeling once again unnerved by his cordiality. The Alphas, as a rule, _hated_ angels, a fact that frankly made the current situation seem downright surreal. Even if the vampires were willing to spare Dean on Sam's behalf, they had no reason to extend the same consideration to Castiel.

"Now," The Alpha said, as the short vampire poured him a glass of what Castiel knew really was blood, "to more pressing matters. Mainly, what is our next move?"

Castiel blinked. "I'm sorry?"  
"Well, the gates of heaven are closed now, the angels have been cast out and no new souls are being let in. This is a huge win for us, of course, and it's all thanks to you, but we can't just rely on time to do our work for us. Heaven is weak- we need to take this opportunity to destroy it."  
Castiel stared at the Alpha vampire, dumbfounded. "You think that I- that _I_ cast the angels out?"

The Alpha smirks. "Castiel, _please._ There is no need to pretend in here- this entire building has been painstakingly angel-proofed. None of your little feathered friends can see or hear you right now."

Castiel opens his mouth, closes it again. He looks back down at the wine and takes a big drink- it tastes like something long dead and rotting, but it gives him enough time to consider what his next move is going to be. On one hand, he could tell the truth, and get thrown back in that concrete cell to repeatedly starve to death; or he could lie and maybe learn something about the enemies plans.

Castiel coughs- his throat burns and he suspects that wine is perhaps meant to be sipped rather than gulped, and makes what he hopes is a casual shrug. "Well, you can never be too careful."

"I suppose not. But still, strategy is important, especially when you are fighting against Heaven."

Castiel briefly wonders just what it is that the vampire is even talking about- with the angels cast out there isn't really much of a Heaven to fight- just a massive number of human souls. He can't even comprehend what a vampire would gain by attacking that, but he is careful not to let his confusion show.

"I think that our next move is largely going to depend on what kind of mons- what kind of _creature_ that Eve turned Sam into." Castiel said, trying to deftly turn the conversation back toward a topic that he understood.

"From what I understand, he's supposed to be somewhat like me- only instead of feeding off blood he's going to feed off angelic grace."  
Castiel nodded- he had suspected that would be the case. Sam had shown promise in fighting angels so Eve turned him into something that would kill them. "Well, there's certainly a lot of that for him to choose from now." Castiel said, voice sounding a bit colder than he had planned. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. "I think that I should go with him- even wingless as they are, angels can still be dangerous. I can teach Sam what he needs to know about their weaknesses."  
"Are you sure that will be safe for you?" The vampire asked, and Castiel was surprised to hear a note of genuine concern in his voice.

"I don't have grace anymore, it should be perfectly safe. And it is the best use of my talents at the moment. Besides, the two of them trust me."

The vampire nodded. "That certainly does seem to be true. That human was using some very colorful language to threaten us after you were unconscious- I believe that he thought that we meant to harm you."

"It's not an unreasonable assumption. Had I been anyone else, you would have."

The vampire laughs heartily, and Castiel forces a smile. He certainly is glad that he has learned how to lie.

"Then it's settled. You go with the Winchesters and teach Sam enough to cripple Heavens armies while they are grounded. I and my vampires will see what we can do about bringing Eve home from Purgatory."  
Castiel felt a sudden chill. "You can do that?"  
"Not yet. But I hear that the Dragons have a spell that might work- they have been frustratingly hard to get in touch with, but I think we can do it, given enough time. But we will bring her out." The vampire eyed Castiel, looking oddly solemn. "We're going to need her, if we want to be able to win this war."

Castiel nodded mutely. He could only imagine the damage that Eve could do if she managed to get back to Earth. She would no doubt begin converting people on mass, changing cities at a time. It was suddenly even more important that he get Sam and Dean _out_ of here so that they could figure out a way to stop that from happening.

"That sounds like a plan." He managed to say, before abruptly standing. "Where are they? I would like to get started."  
The vampire smirks. "You angels really are all business aren't you? Very well, this way."

He leads Castiel through a long hallway and past many more opulently decorated rooms, and Castiel briefly wonders how the vampire had managed to accrue all this wealth. They stop at a large sitting room, occupied only by a frail girl curled up in a stuffed leather chair.

"Daddy," the girl whines, and Castiel feels a rock settle in his stomach as he sees the scarred bite marks on her neck. "Make those men leave. They're getting blood on all of my things."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, they're leaving right now." The vampire says, smiling. He pulls a lever by the fireplace and there is the sound of locks releasing and part of the wall swings open to reveal a pink room.

"None of the cells downstairs were furnished." The vampire explains, motioning to an unconscious Sam lying on the brightly colored bed. Behind him Dean is scrambling to his feet, instantly tense. Both of them look highly out of place in the cheerful pink background.

The girl makes a noise of distress. "The tall one is getting blood over my favorite blanket!"

"We'll get you a new one.."  
"You promise?" The girl smiles back, eyes wide and trusting and it takes all of Castiels self-control not to snap right then and there, grab that heavy looking mantel piece and use it to bash the vampires head in, to crack open the ribs and rip open the throat to let the vampire taste his _own_ blood for a change-

He pushes the thought back, alarmed at how vivid it was.

Dean had repositioned himself, and was now standing in front of the bed. There was nothing in the small pink room that could be used as a weapon, nothing remotely sharp or even very heavy.

"Cas? What the Hell is going on?"  
"They're letting us go."  
"What? _Why_?"

"I'll explain later. Do you need help carrying him?"  
Dean looked lost. "It's not really him is it? I mean, it can't be- you said that the angels couldn't even bring him back."  
"It's really him." Castiel said, a bit impatiently. "Please, Dean, we need to go."

_I don't want to be here anymore._

Dean nodded, collecting himself. Castiel could barely imagine what a shock to the system this must be for him.

He carried Sam out of the pink room and Castiel helped him support Sams weight as soon as he crossed the threshold. As the three of them crossed the room, Castiel saw the pale girl run back into the pink room and curl up happily in her cell as the vampire closed the door behind her, trapping her inside.

Castiel felt himself start to walk a little faster.


	10. Respite

AN: Sorry about how long this chapter took, but I was super busy with holiday stuff and school, and then I basically had to rewrite the entire thing from scratch because I decided to switch viewpoint characters. (whoops)

**LISA**

_They're late._

The thought ran on repeat through Lisa's head as she glanced at the clock for what must have been the fortieth time.

It had all seemed like a good idea at the time, letting them go on their little monster hunt- or rather, not a good idea, but…

"_It's just vampires"_

Dean had actually said that to her before the two of them left, as though a pack of vicious, blood sucking monsters was no big deal.

_What if something happened to them?_

Lisa shook the thought out of her head. It wasn't helping anyone, thinking that way. Dean was fine- he had to be. Castiel was fine too. She had grown used to the two of them moping around her house and wasn't prepared to face the possibility that they were anything other then fine.

She was jolted out of her worrying by the sound of movement at the door. She ran outside and let out a sigh of relief as she saw the Impala pulling into the driveway. Inside, was Dean and Castiel and…

_Sam?_

Lisa's eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh my God!"

"Yeah, I don't think that God had anything to do with it." Dean grunted, pulling his brothers unconscious body out of the car.

"But- how?"

"It was the vampires. Some sort of spell."

She blinked. "Vampires can _do_ that?!"  
Castiel steps in to explain. "Not technically. It was Eve that did most of the work, the vampires merely helped hold the portal open in this dimension."

"Eve?"_  
_"The one from the Bible." Castiel answered flatly.

_Of course._ Lisa rubs her forehead, deciding that she officially does _not_ want to know.

Dean is already almost through the door when the reality of the situation suddenly clicks. "Wait- why did you bring him here? I mean, it looks like he's bleeding pretty bad, shouldn't you take him to the hospital?"  
Dean seems surprised by this perfectly reasonable line of questioning. "Hospitals ask too many questions. Besides, it's not like they can fix what's really wrong with him anyway."  
Lisa looked to Castiel for an explanation.

"Eve bit him."

"Eve from the Bible." Lisa said in a monotone as Dean hauled Sam into the house. Castiel looked like he was about to follow but Lisa held him back, knowing that Dean was going to possessively hover over his brother for as long as Sam was bedridden and that the two of them would likely only get in the way. Lisa thinks of her own sister- she doesn't even really_ like_ Beth, but if, God forbid, something were to happen to her she would move Heaven and Earth to try and help her. She imagines that that feeling is even stronger with Dean and Sam. And she wasn't about to try and make that her business.

But she did need to understand what the Hell was going on.

"Explain." She said, and Castiel shifted uncomfortably.

"Eve's soul was… corrupted many years ago. It was similar, in many ways, to how Lucifer had corrupted Lilith's soul. What Lucifer did to Lilith- it was unspeakably cruel, and we angels swore that nothing like that would ever happen again. That is why we built the Garden."  
"You mean like Eden."  
Castiel nodded. "The Garden covered the entire planet- Back then, Hell was weak. It contained only Lucifer and Lilith. We were able to keep their influence out of Earth entirely, to keep Lucifer's corruption from spreading. But then something went wrong. An angel who secretly sympathized with Lucifer entered into the Garden and found Eve and corrupted her."  
"Let me guess, he had her eat some forbidden fruit?"  
"No," Castiel said flatly. "They engaged in intercourse."

Lisa coughs in surprise. "_What?!_"

"Sexual acts. That is the correct term, is it not?"  
"So what you're saying is that paradise on Earth got ruined because some angel couldn't keep it in his pants?!" The absurdity of the revelation made sense in a strange way- after all, 'The Serpent' is a pretty phallic sounding name.

"Their offspring were destructive, violent creatures. The monsters that Dean hunts now, they pale in comparison. We called them the Nephilim and had we not stopped them when we did, they would have destroyed the entire human race. Fortunately, we managed to kill them all before that could transpire, and we sealed the angel in a cage similar to Lucifer's, deep within Hell. At the time, we believed that the crisis had been averted. We had no reason to suspect that Eve had been changed as much as she had- both of her sons with her human mate Adam were perfectly normal, entirely human. We only realized after she died that something had gone wrong. She never arrived in Heaven, despite our decision to allow her entry, and instead chose to go to Purgatory- a chaotic dimension where the ancient beings that once ruled the cosmos were held prisoner. She became one with that place, and from her came the monsters- her children. We tried to stop her, of course, but we could not reach her in Purgatory."

Lisa nodded. Something about the explanation didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't quite put a finger on what it was.

"So what does that mean for Sam? You said she bit him- what is that going to _do_ to him?"

Castiel looked at her helplessly. "I don't know- the effects of her bite are different every time. Truthfully, it may kill him. The transition- isn't going to be easy."  
Lisa looked at the door that Dean had dragged Sam through. It was closed now, and Dean was no doubt somewhere on the other side of it, having a nervous breakdown about the well-being of his brother. If he lost Sam again, it would destroy him. After all, he had only just gotten him back.

Castiel seemed concerned as well. "If he does survive, then it won't be as a human."  
"What does _that _mean? Is he going to become a monster? Like the kind that Dean hunts?"

Castiel doesn't answer right away, which is not at all comforting.

"Why did he have to bring him here?" It's a terrible thing to say, but Christ, this is her _house_, where she lives and lives and _sleeps_ and Dean had gone and…

"It's my fault." Castiel said suddenly, "Dean wanted to take him to Bobbys- but I told him that Sam would likely regain consciousness before we reached South Dakota, and Dean wanted a place that was fortified against the supernatural."  
Lisa nodded, suddenly remembering all the times that she had caught Dean carving some strange symbol underneath the kitchen counter or under the floorboards. She felt better, knowing that this had not been his first choice- that he hadn't simply heard the words _Sam_ and _alive_ and proceeded to ignore everything else.

"And they will find a way to fix him, I am sure of it."

Lisa nodded. There was really no proof that 'fixing' Sam would even be possible, but the way that Castiel said it made it seem as though the statement was not up for question.

She wonders if he has that much faith in everything, or just when it came to the Winchesters.

And she feels guilty, that she doesn't seem to have that level of faith in them.

"Is it safe?" She hates herself for even asking, because this is _Sam_, Dean's brother, who had once helped save Bens life, and suddenly all she can think about are the words _bite_ and _monster._

Castiel grimaces, effectively answering 'no' without ever having to say it. She ran a hand through her hair. God, ever since Dean had started hunting again the stress had been _killing_ her, but this was taking it to the next level.

"Allright." She exhales, trying not to get angry. "I'll go- get some things. Me and Ben will stay at my sister Beth's house."

Castiel nods. "That would probably be wise. At least for a while, until we can determine just how the bite is affecting him."

"I'm not mad, I just don't think that Ben should be here."

She isn't mad, not really. She gets why Dean had to come here- she can only imagine how bad it would be if Sam had come too on the road, how easily he could have broken free, gotten loose, and started chowing down on some random-

_-No-_

She is not thinking like that, no matter what the extenuating circumstances.

She keeps her mind studiously blank as she goes back inside and tells Ben to pack some things. He looks confused, but doesn't argue. When she comes out again, she finds Castiel awkwardly standing in a the living room, holding a duffle bag.

"What's this?"  
"Some of your cloths. I packed for you."

"Already?" She looks inside. It actually looks pretty good in there. "Do you think that you could help Ben pack his stuff too? I'm kind of worried that he'll forget to bring an extra pair of pants."

Castiel disappeared into Bens room, giving Lisa a few minutes alone to ponder just how her life had come to this point. And then the two of them emerged.

"Mom, what's going on?" Ben asked, looking annoyed.

"Just go wait in the car, okay?"  
He groaned, like she was being entirely unreasonable before heading out to the garage.

She turned to Castiel. "You will tell him that I'm not mad, right?" She wanted to go tell him herself, but he had already taken Sam down to the basement and she knew that Dean would have to be pried away with a crowbar before he would leave his brother

"I will." There is no judgment in Castiels promise, for which Lisa is extremely grateful. She feels guilty enough as it is.

"Call me if anything changes."  
"I will."  
"And don't let Dean get hurt."

"I won't. Everything will be fine."

The way he says it makes her feel a bit better, and she wonders if he actually believes it or if he has just gotten better at lying.

Feeling more guilty than ever, she turns around and leaves.


	11. Awakening

AN: I'm going to need to start building up to the end of 'act 1' pretty soon. That should be exciting.

Anyway, let's get going.

Fallen Chaper 11

**SAM**

The blinding blue-white light pulsed behind his eyelids, now only a memory, but still far brighter than any light he had ever seen. Sam desperately wanted to open his eyes, to be able to see darkness again- (and wasn't that a counter intuitive thought, opening his eyes to block out the light), but just like with any nightmare, no amount of wanting it to go away would make it so.

Sam knew it wasn't real though. He had felt himself pass through the portal, back to earth. He had seen the portal closing, blocking that horrible light on the other side of it.

He knew that it couldn't reach him here, at least not directly.

The room he had been summoned into was wide, warehouse like, and utterly empty except for the strange symbols painted in what looked like was human blood on the floor. On the far edges of the room, were several strangers, one of whom had what looked to be claws instead of fingernails.

Sam had tried to take a step forward, and then his entire body had simply collapsed in on itself.

The sensation could not easily be described. The strange foreign substance in his blood from Eves bite suddenly gripped at him, spreading through his veins like poison and drilling its way into his bones. He falls to the floor, suddenly wanting nothing more than for this to stop.

It doesn't stop.

Instead he feels it crawling up his thought, towards his eyes, and for a brief moment before he passes out, he sees the group of strangers again, only they are _different._ There is an energy around them, brown and chaotic, jutting from them like spikes. It looks almost solid- pointed and dangerous. The one with the claw like fingernails- the strange brownish colors surrounding him are particularly strong, exponentially larger than the others', and mixed with a deep crimson color.

Sam stares, wondering what the Hell he's even _seeing_, when all of a sudden the colors blink out of existence. And then, seconds later, the world follows, and Sam fell unconscious.

He can feel himself drifting, dreamlike, in some place outside of consciousness. But even here, he could feel that alien presence spreading, growing, burrowing itself deeper into his being.

_First the demon blood and now this. _Sam wonders why this sort of thing is always happening to him.

The light danced around the corners of his vision as he felt physical sensation slowly return to him. It seemed so dim in comparison to that strange bright blue-white light that he had seen in the space between dimensions. Dim, but so much warmer.

He opened his eyes. For a brief moment he only saw colors and vague shapes, but when he blinked everything snapped into focus.

"Dean?" he asked, confused at seeing his brothers face hovering over him. What had happened to those… monsters? Even if Eve had not flat out told him that it would be the monsters bringing him back to earth, he _knew_ that those people in that warehouse had not been human. He thinks back to that strange, spikey energy he had seen around them, wondering if that was some sort of visual manifestation of their non-humanness.

He tells himself that whatever he saw was not real, even as he vaguely wonders what he looks like now.

"Heya Sammy. How are you feeling?"  
"Disoriented." Sam answered honestly, looking up at the ceiling. It looked like he was in- the basement of a house? The room around him looked like it belonged in the suburbs, which is pretty much the last place that he expected to wake up in. It was filled with large boxes of chips and snacks from Costco on metal storage shelves, and the complete normalcy of it stood in stark contrast to the strange symbols that had been hastily drawn on the walls.

"Yeah, well, coming back from the dead will do that to you." Dean replied. His voice was somewhat strained, trying too hard to maintain a light tone.

Sam stared at his brother, straining to see anything inhuman hiding beneath the familiar face. He hated using these new powers, especially intentionally. The memory of the demon blood was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that he would likely be- susceptible to whatever temptations that these new powers had to offer. But, damn it, if some _thing_ was trying to impersonate his brother, then he needed to know about it.

He didn't see anything. Dean was just Dean.

Sam felt a sudden rush of emotions, and questions like 'how?' suddenly seemed irrelevant. He was not emotionally prepared to deal with this, he realized suddenly. Just a few days ago, he had been in Hell, convinced that he would never, ever get out. And then suddenly, he was, first in Purgatory, and now Earth, _Home_. He felt like his brain couldn't keep up, like he needed a few days just to wrap his head around what had just _happened_ to him, to figure out what that meant and what he needed to do now.

_Now that I'm not human._

The thought came unbidden and unwelcome, cutting through the fog of confused swirling emotions. He felt his teeth suddenly clench, as if subconsciously trying to keep the thought from slipping out of his mouth.

Did Dean know? Sam doubted it. He wouldn't be hovering over him like a worried mother hen if he knew. Sam doesn't think that Dean would try to kill him - if there's one thing that he learned from Azazel and the demon blood and the apocalypse, it was that Dean was practically physically incapable of killing him.

But Sam thinks that he would at least be looking at him with more suspicion if he knew. That he should have at least handcuffed him to something until he could see that Sam wasn't going to go feral and start eating people or something.

Dean doesn't seem to be suspicious, so Sam doesn't think that he knows.

He needs to tell him, and boy is _that_ a conversation that he is not looking forward to, but he Dean needs to know, especially if Sam _does_ end up going feral.

Sam needs to tell him, but he can't seem to form the words, not now. He knows that it is selfish, to keep this a secret like he had with the demon blood. But he has only just now gotten back, after spending so long thinking that he never would, and he doesn't want to spoil the moment.

The hug comes suddenly, and Sam isn't really sure who initiated it. It is the sort of hug that is reserved only for when a family member comes back to life (Which, for the Winchesters, was becoming something of a common occurrence.) It is enough to push the dark thoughts away for a moment, to make Sam remember that right now, things are good. They can –and probably will- go to shit later, but they are good right now.

He breaks the hug, breathing deeply. He can't do this. He can't pretend that everything is okay. He knows himself too well, knows that if he hides the truth now, it will only become harder and harder for him to be honest later. He can't afford that, not now, not when he still didn't know what the effects of Eve's bite would be.

"Dean." He said, mind suddenly flashing back to when Dean had finally confessed their fathers last words _(he said I might have to kill you, Sammy)_, wondering how much that confession had hurt him. "I'm not- You don't just get to come back from where I was, you know that don't you? I mean, we always thought that it would be a one way ticket. Cas said that even if they wanted to, the angels-"

_-LET YOU ROT, LET YOU DIE AND SUFFER AND WOULDN'T HAVE DONE A THING TO HELP YOU EVEN IF THEY COULD, WOULDN'T HAVE EVEN TRIED-_

Sam lurches at the sudden onslaught of the foreign thoughts. He feels his fingernails dig deeper into his palms as he wonders if that is going to be the way it is every time he thinks about angels from now on. He takes a shaky, breath, hoping that Dean didn't think much about the sudden pause.

"They couldn't get me out. And, I mean, it's not like we really know anything else with the juice to pull this sort of thing off without there being some pretty serious consequences."

Deans face was suddenly a mask of practiced stoicism, his jaw firmly set as though he were exerting all his self-control to not react until Sam had finished talking.

Sam reached up, gingerly touching the wound where his neck meet his shoulder. It still ached from under the bandage, and Sam wondered if there would ever be a time when he didn't feel as though it were spreading poison throughout his body.

"Sam." Dean said, face carefully blank. "I know."

Sam looked up, not quite comprehending what he had just heard. But then he remembered the bite on his neck- it had been bandaged, so Dean must have seen it. And though there were times that he marveled at his brother's ability to deny what was right in front of him, he doubted that Dean would be able to deny what a bite like that likely meant.

_He knew. He already knew._

Sam suddenly felt like he was having trouble breathing. What the Hell was Dean _thinking_, why hadn't he chained him up or stuffed him in the panic room if he knew that Sam wasn't human? He knew how unpredictable monsters could be, and even Sam didn't know what he was going to be capable of. What he was going to be driven to do.

Dean took a deep breath, continuing. "I mean. I don't know all that much- I don't really understand how you got back. I've never been an expert at this dimensional portal business or whatever. But I do know that the monster queen or whoever did something to you in transit and you- you didn't come back exactly right. I do know that much."

How the Hell did Dean know all this? Even if those monsters had explained everything to him, he wouldn't have believed it- he never really trusted anything a monster said. Hell, Sam even thought that the whole sequence of events was way too ridiculous to be plausible, and he had been _there_ for the whole thing.

He obviously does believe it though, strange as that may be. Sam wonders how Dean reacted when he first heard that Sam wasn't human.

Then, suddenly, the question of why Dean believed what had happened didn't seem so important anymore.

Sam opened his mouth, feeling a deep coldness settle in his chest. "I'm sorry. I know that you didn't want me back like this."

Dean unreadable expression breaks. "God, Sam, are you crazy? You were dead. Not just dead- you were in Hell. Of course I wanted you back. I was going nuts, knowing that you were down there and I couldn't get you out. I've freaking been to Hell, I know what it's like- you think that I would be okay with you going through that? I mean, crap, I want to send Eve a damn fruit basket for getting you out, no matter how she did it."

"But, Dean-"

"But _nothing_, Sam. Whatever this is, whatever it is that she did to you, it's better than Hell."  
Sam had to admit, that was true. A few years ago, he thought that being turned into some inhuman _thing_ would have been the worst thing that could have happened to him, but Hell has a way of putting things in perspective.

Eve had seemed far too straightforward to even be capable of the mind games that Lucifer had enjoyed playing. She didn't seem interested in watching him suffer, just in using him as a weapon in whatever blood feud that she had against the angels.

"You're right. It's definitely better then Hell. Though I do wish that the way out didn't involve me getting turned into a freak."  
"You were a freak before."  
"Not this kind of freak. Dean, I saw something, in that warehouse, before I passed out. It was almost like I could see the vampires for what they really were. I could tell that they weren't human."

Dean blinked, surprised. "Well, that could come in handy."

Sam groaned. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Dean was going to go with the 'try and ignore the problem until it goes away' approach to dealing with Sam's newfound monster-ness. Sam isn't exactly surprised, since that seems to be the way that Dean deals with any problem that he can't punch, though he is annoyed- especially since that approach has a worrying tendency to backfire horribly.

"Dean, I'm serious. This bite is _already _changing me- not just my perceptions, but everything about me, and we have no idea what it's turning me into. I think- until we figure out for sure what's going on, you should lock me up."

"Sam…"  
"No, Dean, I mean it. We have no precedent for this sort of thing, you can't just let me loose in- where are we anyway?"  
"Lisa's."

Sam feels himself suddenly developing the urge to slap his brother upside the head for the amount of sheer stupidity involved in that decision.

"Lisa's? God, Dean, what the Hell were you thinking?!"

For all they know, Sam could have been turned into a vampire or a wraith or the freaking abominable snowman, and Deans first thought had been 'Gee, I guess I'll take my possibly rabid monster brother to my girlfriend's house in the suburbs, that makes perfect sense.'  
"Hey, this basement is pretty well warded, I'm not actually a complete idiot. This whole room is lined iron- you can't see it because it's behind the sheet rock. The doors iron too. We even carved in some protective warding symbols in the iron, to help drive away a whole host of nasties. And it looked like you were going to wake up before we made it to Bobby's."

Instead at feeling relief over the fact that his brother apparently wasn't a complete idiot, Sam felt a sudden wave of grief. Bobby was dead- Lucifer had effortlessly snapped his neck after killing Cas. In all those decades in Hell, he had never really been able to forget. Lucifer had enjoyed tormenting Sam with that knowledge, with how easy it had been for him to kill the two of them.

The guilt was overwhelming- as much as he knew that he hadn't been the one to do it, not really, he still remembered killing them. Lucifer had used his body to do it, and he hadn't been able to do a thing to stop him.

"Dean- I'm sorry."

"About what? Dissing my basement?"

"No, I mean, about- you know, Bobby…"

A strange silence fills the air as Deans face goes from confused to surprised, to some strange combination of sympathy and amusement.

"Holy crap, dude, no! Bobby's fine!"

Now it is Sam's turn to be confused. "But- how? Did Eve bring him back too?"  
"What? No way, Cas did."  
"CAS is alive too?" That simply was not possible- he had seen Cas get _exploded_. His body had been taken apart at the molecular level, he had_ seen_ it. And Lucifer had made a point about how final that was, how when an angel died they were simply _gone_, forever.

"Yeah, man- he got brought back pretty much right after you- you know, beat the devil."

"How?"  
Dean shrugged. "We think God might have done it."

"Why? I mean, it's not like God goes bringing people back for no reason."  
"How should I know? Mysterious ways and all that." He said in a way that made it seem like he hadn't given it too much thought.

There is the sudden sound of someone coming downstairs.

"Oh, hey, I bet that's him now. Hey, Cas, Sam thought that you were _dead_."

"A reasonable assumption, considering that he saw me die." He hears Cas' trademark gravelly voice reply.

Sam has just enough time for the full implications of what is happening to sink in before Cas is right _there_.

Sam looks at his friend and screams.

_WHAT IS THAT WHAT IS THAT WHAT IS-_

Sam's thoughts are suddenly a jumbled mess, as incomprehensible images filter through a fevered mind. He jerks his head away, squeezes his eyes shut and tries desperately not to think about the light.

But he can't, because it's right there-

_WHY WHY WHY WH-_

-a physical presence, not like an aura at all, but something else, something almost solid, and it is coiled around Castiel like a snake, except not, because it is _sharp _and _barbed _and there are places where the light burrows its way straight through-

_THAT HAS TO HURT, THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HURTS SO BAD-_

-and then comes out the other side, only to wrap itself around him some more. Sam feels a strange sense of- pity maybe? But whatever he's feeling, it's not what he expected.

There is no bloodlust, no unexplained hatred or sudden urge to do- anything violent really. He feels kind of like he stumbled upon a dying animal in the woods, who had managed to just barely escape the claws of some much larger predator only to collapse in the underbrush as their wounds started to fester and crawl with maggots and-

_That is so not the mental image I want to have right now._

It's the first thing resembling a rational thought since Castiel has entered the room, and he holds onto it, uses it to focus himself. He feels himself breath, his deep inhale and exhale the only sounds in the suddenly deathly quiet room.

It is Dean that breaks the silence, eloquent as always. "Dude- What the Hell?"

Sam takes another breath, and opens his eyes.

It's not so bad, the second time, now that he knows what to expect. And once he gets past the intrusive thoughts about just how painful that looks, that alien other worldly _thing_, he can still see Castiel behind it. Trapped within it, whatever _it_ was. He could still see Cas, but it's hard to focus on his face with all _that_ swirling around him (and through him). He looked- confused? Concerned? Sam couldn't tell.

"I see." Castiel says solemnly before suddenly turning around and walking out of the room.

As soon as he is gone, Sam feels his breathing gradually return to normal. He feels guilty, that he reacted like that. Greeting your friend, who you thought was dead for the past 70 years (or 7 months, depending on how you counted it) by screaming at the top of your lungs and flailing around like a crazy person was hardly appropriate.

But hey, at least he didn't try to kill him. He hadn't even really _wanted _to.

_Why hadn't he?_

Dean is staring at him, still looking confused as Hell. Sam looked down, glancing at his hands. They were formed into tight fists that he didn't remember making. He forced his hands to relax and then looked back at his brother.

"Do _no_t let him come back in here." Sam said, sounding harsher then he meant to.

Dean looked even more confused than before, and Sam takes a ragged breath.

"Dean, do you remember how I said that I wasn't a danger to people?"  
"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that I _am_ a danger to angels."


	12. Sales Tactics

AN: Sorry for the long delay, I've been really busy with studying for finals, and these next couple of chapters are going to be really important to the overall story, and I want to get them right.

Anyway, let's get this thing moving forward.

Chapter 12

**CASTIEL**

"I'm going to need to take Sam to Bobbys, and we're going to get this whole thing settled, don't worry. It just- might take a little while. You'll be okay, here by yourself, won't you?"

Castiel nodded, because of course he was, he was not a _child. _He didn't need to ask why he wasn't going to come with them- he had seen it well enough in the basement- whatever it was that Eve had done to Sam clearly only became active in the presence of angels, and the last thing that Sam needed was some broken fallen angel hanging around while he was trying to find some way to cure himself.

Neither of the Winchesters said any of this, of course- the two of them were sentimental almost to a fault, and had only seemed concerned about Castiels _safety_.

Castiel doesn't say that even if Sam was to somehow manage to kill him it would really only be doing him a favor in the long run.

He doesn't want to die, but he knows that in all likelihood there will come a time when he will. As much as he wants to, he simply does not have the kind of faith that Dean does.

"You'll keep in touch, won't you? If you need money, or anything else, just call and I'll send it."  
"Of course. I will call."

Dean drives him to the bus station. The ride feels silent, even with the loud music that Dean drives with. Castiel spends the entire trip wondering if he should say something, and then realizing that he has nothing to say.

And then, they are there.

"Do you know where you're going?"  
"No." Castiel lies.

Dean believes him, and smiles. "Making it up as you go, huh? Sounds like a plan."  
Castiel nods, grateful that his face never got much practice at showing emotion. It makes them easier to hide.

"Yes. I suppose so."  
It's not a goodbye, as much as it feels like one. As he watches Dean drive away, he realizes that he's never actually said goodbye to Dean before. When he was still an angel, he would always simply fly away whenever he felt the conversation had ended. Goodbyes had seemed superfluous.

When he can't see the Impala anymore he wonders if he should have said it that time.

If the worst happens- if they can't cure Sam, or if the Angels find him, then that might have been his last chance.

Castiel tries not to think about that. The Apocalypse had taught him that even if the worst seemed imminent, there still might be a way to avert it.

Around Dean, it had all seemed remarkably possible. He had mastered selective denial in a way that few humans were able to achieve, and the universe seemed to buckle under the sheer force of his will.

_We can make this better. We can fix this. We may be outnumbered, outgunned and in every possible way outmatched, but we can still win this._

Now, suddenly without Deans steady stream of assurances, Castiel found himself doubting once again. He could feel things happening, things outside of the scope of his understanding.

The vampires had believed him to be responsible for the Fall. It wasn't as though they had simply heard a rumor, they had been positive that he was responsible. Sure enough to not only let him go, but to share pieces of their strategy with him. They had truly believed him to be their ally.

With the chaos that had followed, with Sam suddenly back from the dead, there had been no real time to think about what that meant.

Castiel thought back to Raphael, to that final humiliating day in Heaven. He thought about the lies that Raphael had spread, and how easily they were believed.

He wonders what lies he is telling now.

The wind blows, suddenly cold, and Castiel briefly wishes he had brought that winter coat that Lisa had gotten him. The weather had been warmer, almost pleasant when he had left her house, but the wind had gotten progressively worse as he waited for a bus, any bus to come.

He looks at the sky. Grey clouds had gathered in the distance.

A storm was coming. 

"Lovely weather we're having."

Castiel jumped at the unexpected and entirely unwelcome voice. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Crowley shrugged casually, as though he hadn't just appeared out of thin air (he had a sudden understanding as to why Dean had hated that so much), and gave a dry smile. "Been wanting to talk to you for a while, truth be told, but could never quite find the time. Things have been busy downstairs. Did you hear that I got promoted? You're looking at the new King of Hell."  
"Congratulations." Castiel said flatly.

"Of course, you can imagine my surprise when, right in the middle of my celebratory cruise trip to Bermuda, Heaven starts vomiting up angels. Word on the street says that was you."

"That is an outrageous lie, and you know it."  
"Of course _I_ know it. It's not often that I can't close a deal- you damaged a near perfect record when you said no. I would be worried about my reputation, except for some reason everyone else seems to think that you said yes. Rumor has it that you and I have been engaging in all kinds of scandalous activities together."

Crowley raised his eyebrows suggestively, leaving little doubt in Castiels mind as to _what_ rumor he was referring to. Castiel felt his face flush. He had hoped _that_ particular lie would not spread beyond Heaven.

Crowley continued. "I must say, love, the angels must be some of the most blindingly gullible creatures on the planet if they believed such an obvious smear campaign. How _did_ you lot manage to rule the world for so long with such infantile brains?"

Castiel felt his embarrassment turn to anger. "We created _order_, created the conditions that were necessary for the human race to survive."

Crowley scoffed. "Right, you all were doing such a wonderful job. You almost let your bosses end the world just because they told you it was the right thing to do, and you were the _reasonable_ one. If you ask me, whoever it was that kicked you guys out was doing the world a favor. The last thing this planet needs is a repeat performance of the Apocalypse."

Castiel bristled further. "That wasn't going to happen. Raphael said-"

"And you _believed_ him? God, you're just as bad as the rest of them. You really think that he didn't lie about that too? Let's be honest with ourselves, he was planning on discrediting you from the very beginning, and then he was probably just going to lock you away somewhere where you couldn't interfere the next time around. "

Remembering Raphael's promise of a 'short, purely symbolic prison sentence', Castiel felt a cold certainty of as he realized that Crowley was probably right. Once Castiel had been successfully discredited and detained, there would be nothing stopping Raphael for restarting the plans for the Apocalypse. Stopping it once had been nothing short of a miracle, one that Castiel doubted could be repeated. And he had almost let it happen, because he had been foolish and gullible, and had believed Raphael when he came begging for peace.

Crowley was smirking. _Damn him. _

"How did you manage to piece all of this together?"

"Politics is politics, love. And if there's one thing that I know, it's politics. You, obviously, are abysmal at it. Although there is one thing that I don't understand."  
"What's that?"  
"What happened. Why Heaven suddenly imploded. It wasn't anyone on my end. If the demons had that kind of power, they would have used it ages ago. We know it wasn't Raphael, because it pretty much wrecked his whole Apocolypse2.0 plan. So who does that leave? Who is there with the power to shut down Heaven? I was hoping that you could enlighten me."  
"Why do you think I know?"

"Well, because you were _there_, obviously. You must have seen something."

"I was otherwise occupied with being arrested at the time."  
"Is that what you were doing? The exact second before you fell to earth, is that what was happening?"  
"I-" _No._ "Yes."

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying. I didn't see anything. It happened to fast, it was all over before I even realized what had happened."

"Come on, you must at least have a theory."

Castiel felt something snap, and he found himself speaking words that before he had never given voice too, not even in his mind.

"It was God."  
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "God?"  
"Who else could it have been? It's like you said, no one has that kind of power. I could never understand why, before, why He would do such a thing, but if what you say is true, if Raphael really did have plans to restart the Apocalypse- I think that God would do everything within His power to prevent that from happening."

The realization didn't feel nearly as earthshattering as it should have, and Castiel wonders if part of him always knew.

Crowley did not seem happy. It was clear that was not the explanation he had been hoping for. Castiel wasn't exactly pleased with it either. If true, the implications of Castiels current state became even more dire.

Had he truly fallen that far out of Gods favor, to be cursed as he was? He had been all but Damned, waiting for the slightest push to send him over the edge, before he inevitably crashed into Hell itself.

In all of time, no angel had ever been redeemed after falling this far. If God himself had cast him out so completely, then there was no hope for him.

The aching question of _why_ became even more insistent. Was it because of his foolishness in believing Raphael?

"Hmph. When they said that God works in mysterious ways, they weren't kidding."

Castiel glared at the demon. What was Crowley still _doing_ there? He had answered his question. What else did he _want_?

"I mean, I get trying to stop the Apocalypse. But that doesn't explain what happened to you. "  
Castiel gritted his teeth. "Please stop talking."  
"Touchy subject? Suit yourself. Though, if you want to know what I think-"

"I don't."  
"Really, it's for the best. You should be grateful."

"You must be joking."  
"Not at all. Are you honestly telling me that you would rather be _mortal_? That you would rather flit off into the void after, what, forty, fifty more years? From what I understand, you lot don't get an afterlife."

"You really think that I should be grateful that I have been destined for Hell?"  
"You must be fun at parties." Crowley scoffed. " Haven't you ever heard of positive thinking? You've been given a great opportunity, Castiel. A chance to do something truly meaningful."

"What are you talking about, Crowley?"  
Crowley leaned in closer, and Castiel was assaulted by the smell of sulfur. "Do you know what the worst part about running Hell is?"  
"It's Hell?"  
"Precisely. Its loud, bloody, violent, and no one wants to be there. I mean, I _run_ the place and I spend as much time as possible topside, making deals. And no one wants to make deals with a demon. Sure, we'll get the extremely stupid or the extremely desperate, but anyone with a brain will tell you that ten years of pleasure verses an eternity of suffering just isn't a good trade. But imagine if that wasn't the case. What if Hell wasn't Hell?"  
"What if Hell wasn't Hell? What on earth does _that_ mean?"

Crowley was sitting very close now, almost uncomfortably so. "Well, who made Hell what it is? Lucifer, right? Well, right now, Lucifer is out of the equation. Now, I wouldn't even be suggesting this if Heaven was still up and running- you angels are _not_ fans of change. The Archangels would never have permitted it. But lately, I've been thinking- what if we were able to offer our customers something other than torture and pain? We could make Hell downright pleasant, if we wanted to."  
"We?"  
"Well, I would need your help, obviously. There are still a lot of Lucifer loyalists down there. They're keeping hidden right now, but if I started trying to make big changes there is a good chance I would see a revolution. Even as it stands, the other Fallen Angels are gathering their strength. Some of them are loyal to Lucifer, but most just don't want to see a lowly demon like me running Hell. And they are all just waiting for any excuse to attack. I would need your help taking care of them should that happen."

"You're asking me to damn myself."

"The way I see it, you're pretty much damned already. Why waste time pretending that you're not? What's a couple hundred years in the big scope of things?"

Castiel looked up at the sky. The clouds had gathered closer. "Is this why you're here? To try and make a deal with me again?"

"I've never offered anyone what I'm offering you now. This is a chance for a partnership. A mutually beneficial one. We could rule a new Hell together."

Castiel felt strangely numb. He hummed indecisively as he stared up at the sky.

He had to admire Crowley's skill, as he realized that the entire conversation had been designed to get him in the state of mind where he would be most likely to agree. To further isolate him from the other angels, from God, to get him to give in to despair.

It really should have worked.

Except that for some reason, Castiel couldn't find it in him to despair.

It was the same as those first few days after the Fall, when he was waiting for the shock of what had happened to wear off, for the rage and helplessness to consume him, only to find that they never did, not really.

He remembered how it felt, when he had learned that God had abandoned Earth to the Apocalypse, when Dean had tried to say yes to Michael.

Nothing that he has felt since the Fall has even come close. Instead, he has been left with a sense of calm acceptance. He feels a strange, unexplainable understanding that this is just the way things need to be, even if he is not happy about them.

He hears his own voice before he makes the conscious decision to speak. "No."  
"No?!" Crowley actually seems surprised by his answer. Castiel supposes that people don't tell him no all that often, and now he has done it twice.  
"It was a good pitch, but I'm not interested. Find someone else. "

"There_ is_ no one else. I need an angel on my side if I want to make this happen. One that _isn't_ a rabid Lucifer follower like the ones that are already in Hell."  
"Ask Belial. I know she didn't support Lucifer."  
Crowley made a face of disgust. "Belial has been in Hell for the past six hundred and fifty three years, Earth time. I don't know what she was like before, but she's more demon then angel at this point."

Castiel felt a fresh wave of guilt at hearing that. Belial had been a good angel, better than he had been in many ways, and what had happened to her had simply not been fair.

There was a twitch in Crowley's jaw. "We could build something together. Something worthwhile."  
Castiel shook his head. "You would find a way to twist it somehow. You demons always do. And whatever it is that you're really planning, I won't let myself be a part of it. Not willingly, anyway."

The demon stood up suddenly, dusting off his trousers. "Very well. If that's the way that you want to play." He eyed Castiel. "I do need you to make this work. And I can't afford to wait for centuries while you fart around on Earth. Just remember that I tried to do things civilly. If you want to do things the hard way, then I'll be forced to oblige."

Castiel took a brief moment to process the contents of Crowleys sudden threat. "You really think that you can _force_ me to jump into Hell?"

Crowley smiled, viciously, victoriously. "I don't need to make _you_ do anything. Your brothers will do that for me."  
Castiel felt a sudden cold jolt run through his spine as he remembered a rocky cliff face, illuminated by glowing sigils. A woman screaming incoherent sounds- they weren't words, this was before words existed. The second time and angel had ever been sealed within Hell.

It was tradition to allow the Fallen to perform the ritual themselves, as a final act of repentance. But it didn't have to be that way. It hadn't been like that after Gadreel had been caught having intimate relations with Eve. He hadn't even been given a grace period on Earth, and instead had just been immediately tossed into one of the deepest pits of Hell.

The ritual needed to be performed by an angel, but there was nothing in the rules that specified _which_ angel.

Castiel felt himself scramble to his feet, but it was too late- Crowley was already gone, leaving Castiel with nothing to do but to mutely stare at the darkening sky.


	13. Vision

Fallen chapter 13

AN: Hey everyone! Sorry for the long delay, I was busy moving.

I can't believe how long this thing is getting, especially since I still feel like I'm just getting started. I know that there aren't many of you, but for those of you that are out there, thanks for reading this crazy thing.

Chapter 13

**Dean**

Dean wonders why it is that nothing good ever seems to happen without a huge freaking 'but' attached to it.

Sam's back from the dead, _but,_ he's being used as a pawn in some upcoming Monster-Angel war. Freaking fantastic. Because their lives weren't messed up enough as it is.

_Maybe the demons will get involved somehow. Make the shit-storm even worse. _

Dean banishes the thought from his head. Knowing his luck, even _thinking_ that would be enough to jinx it somehow.

And that would be the literal last thing that he needs right now.

"So you can like, see angel auras now or something?"  
Sam rolls his eyes. "I didn't say auras, just that there was this weird light around him."

"And that is different from an aura… how?"  
"Because, an aura is a person's energy and this light, it wasn't… it wasn't _Cas_, alright? It was something else- a piece of Heaven or something. I can't explain it."

"Well try. I need to know what made you started freaking out. I mean, I get being startled, but you flat out started _screaming_. What else did you see?"  
"Just the light. But Dean, you don't understand, that light, it was- it was _wrong."_

"Uh huh."

Sam glares at him. As if he's supposed to be able to understand what the Hell that means.

_Wrong light_. At least the Demon Blood powers had made sense.

"Look, it doesn't matter right now. Bobby will figure it out what it mean and how to fix it. We just need to get over there. We just need about an hour more on the road and then we'll be at the salvage yard. Pretty soon this whole mess will be behind us."

"Right." Sam said, glancing out of the window of the car. "And maybe after that we can fly up a rainbow to Never-Never land."  
"Damn it, Sam, we _will_ be able to fix this." Dean was getting pretty sick and tired of being the team cheerleader.  
Sam huffed, unconvinced.

The car fell into a heavy silence for a while, broken when Sam shifted, looking up. "Do you think Cas is going to be okay?"  
Dean felt his grip on the wheel tighten, just a little bit. Cas had looked so God-damned _miserable_ when he had dropped him off at the bus station. But it had been for his own good, and Dean was _not_ going to let himself feel guilty about it. "He'll be fine. The dude is like a billion years old, he'll be able to handle a few weeks on his own."  
Sam didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "What if this takes longer than a couple of weeks?"  
"Look, Sam, we will figure it out. One problem at a time, all right?"  
Sam nodded, sullenly. "All right." 

They made it to Bobbys in record time, finding the older hunter waiting on the porch, arms crossed.

"It's really him, Bobby." Dean groaned after he splashed Sam in the face with holy water.

"I'll believe it when I see it. Now let me try the silver knife."  
Fortunately, whatever Eve had turned Sam into didn't react to any of the tests for shape shifters or dark doubles, so they were finally able to convince Bobby that Sam was really Sam. After that point, Dean excuses himself to the kitchen to get a beer, not wanting to intrude on the far too emotional reunion.

After they explain just how Sam had gotten back, Bobby gets a few beers for himself as well.

"You know, if it were anybody but you boys I would say that you need to get your heads checked. You two do realize how crazy this all sounds, don't you?"  
"Yeah, well, we kind of specialize in crazy."

"That you do. Come on, we need to set up the panic room."  
None of them had any idea how Eves bite was going to affect Sam, so they decided to play it safe.

"Werewolves are really only dangerous once a month. We need to consider the possibility that Sam might be the same way."

"We can't keep Sam locked up in the panic room for an entire month!"  
"Yes you can, Dean." Sam grumbled. "Look, Bobbys right, we need to be cautious here. If something goes wrong and I end up hurting someone then I will never be able to forgive myself. We have to do whatever we can to keep that from happening."

They stocked the panic room with all the books that they could find that even seemed slightly relevant to the problem at hand, because it wasn't as though Sam was going to have anything better to do all day.

They ran into problems almost immediately, when Sam tried to go inside for the first time.

"SHIT!" Sam exclaimed.  
Dean looked over to see an angry red burn on Sams hand where he had tried to grab the door handle.

"Crap, that's right. Iron."  
"Iron." Sam muttered, glaring at the burn on his hand as though it had personally offended him.

"You know, monster problems."  
"I know what it _means_ Dean, what are we going to _do_ about it?"  
They ended up stacking plywood onto the floor, and replacing the bed frame with a wooden one.

"This stinks. How the Hell am I supposed to hunt if I can't touch iron?"  
Dean snickers slightly at that, glad that even if Sam doesn't think that they will be able to cure him of his monster problem, he still thinks that they would one day be able to manage it to the point where they will be able to go out hunting again.

That's downright optimistic, really.

They find a promising lead in a book about vampires. It's just a passing mention of an old legend, really, but apparently there is a way to 'cure' a recently-turned vampire (so long as they have not yet drunk any human blood).

"It's a stretch." Bobby grumbles. "And not a very well sourced one."  
"Hey, I'll take it."  
Bobby looked up, studying Dean seriously. "Dean, have you given any thought as to what we're going to do if this isn't something that we can fix?"

It's a fair enough line of questioning, one that Dean knows that he's going to need to consider one of these days, but he isn't about to do it right now. "We'll find something, Bobby. We've only been at this a couple of hours and we've already got a lead."  
"Dean, even if the vampire cure _does_ exist, Sam isn't a vampire. I don't see how that helps us."

'Hey, come on man, have a little faith."  
Bobby raises an eyebrow, and okay, Dean realizes how that must sound coming from him.

But he can't help it. He _has_ to be optimistic about their chances with Sam, because otherwise he seriously doubts he would be able to deal with all the shit that's going on right now.

And besides, it's not like it's really _hard_ to be optimistic about this. Sam is alive, and he seems fine, for the most part. Apart from that one freak-out, he has acted pretty normal all day. Same old overly-sensitive Sam.

_Not a danger to humans._

Dean knows that it's probably wishful thinking, but maybe that's true. Sure, they really only have Eve's word to go on, and he isn't about to _trust_ the bitch that bit Sam. But if that was the case- well, they could work with that.

Most of the angels were assholes anyway.

So long as Sam never started wanting to kill actual _people_, and they kept a couple of states between him and Cas, then Dean figured that whatever other issues that would arise would be manageable.

Though that 'not being able to touch iron' thing really is going to be pretty damn inconvenient if they are going to start hunting again.

Still, in the big scheme of things, it doesn't seem like that big of a deal. Especially when the alternative was, you know, Hell.

The optimistic feeling lasts for less than two days, when all of a sudden Sam starts screaming.

Dean pulls open the door of the panic room, half expecting that Sam has somehow fallen face first onto the iron wall or something, only to find him curled up on the plywood beside the bed, clutching his head with shaking hands.

"Sammy! What the Hell happened?"  
Sam looks up, face far paler then it had seemed only minutes ago, when Dean had given Sam his lunch. His eyes are wide as he looks wildly around the room, staring at one wall, and then another, before finally looking directly at Dean.

Dean takes a small step back. There is something behind Sams eyes that he doesn't recognize. It's not hostility, or hunger, or anything else he has come to expect when dealing with monsters. It's fear. It's some type of all-consuming panic, the type of fear that some wild animal might get when they hear fireworks for the first time and think that the world is ending. It looks wrong on Sams face, because Sam doesn't get afraid, not like this.

"Dean!" Sam shouts, trying to stand up. It doesn't work- Sams legs collapse like noodles as soon as he tries to put any weight on them.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean asks, mentally wondering why it is that he seems to be frozen on the spot.

"Somethings wrong! I could hear them- they're all so angry, Dean."  
"Who? Who's angry?"

"Angels. They were talking to each other- I don't think I was supposed to hear them."  
"What, you mean that you tuned in to Angel Radio or something?"

Sam's eyes jerk even wider, and _crap_, Dean hadn't thought that was possible for eyes to open that wide. "NO!" he shouts. "It's not a radio! They don't talk like we do. It's a _hive_\- Dean, the angels are bees!"

"Okaaay." Dean nods in a way that he hopes is reassuring. He knows that he's been living in denial these past couple of days- a breakdown on Sams part was probably a long way coming. But he sure as Hell hadn't expected the breakdown to consist of the phrase 'the angels are bees'.

"Or maybe ants, I didn't hear for long enough to get a clear picture- I don't think that the light wanted me to be listening."  
"What light?"

"The light! I told you about the light, Dean!"

"Wait, you mean that angel aura thing?"  
Something in Sam's expression suddenly cracked, and he stood up, suddenly enraged. "IT'S NOT AN AURA!" He shouted, eyes still held impossibly wide. "I already _told_ you this, Dean, it's something else. That light is _alive_. Don't you understand what that _means_?"  
"No?" Dean answered hesitantly. His brain was working itself into desperate circles, trying in vain to figure out just what Sam was even talking about, much less why it seemed to be so important to him.

Sam started pacing on the wooden crates, muttering something incomprehensible to himself. "There's no time to explain. That's not even what's important right now. The point is, that I heard what the light was telling the angels."

Dean nods, crushing the urge to ask just how a light could tell anyone anything. "What did the light say?"  
Sam looked at Dean, suddenly very still. "It told the angels that Cas was the one who made them all fall. And from how angry they all got, I think that they believed it."

_Shit!_ He should have known that this would happen. It had been obvious that the angels were going to blame Cas, that they would want to get revenge somehow.

He had known that, and he had still sent Cas off on his own. He had barely even hesitated.

Of course Sammy came first, he always had, but Cas was family too, and he should have at least _tried_ to find some way to protect him to, something better then just dropping him off at the nearest bus station and hoping for the best.

"Sam, calm down. It's going to be all right. Look, I''ll- I'll take care of it, OK?"

Sam grabbed his arm. "I'm coming too."  
"Look, Sam, I really don't think that it's the best idea for you to be coming anywhere."  
"If you go alone, they'll kill you! You know that!"  
"Sam, I can handle a couple of angels-"  
"No you can't. Not that many of them. They'll kill you, and then they'll kill Cas too."

"I'm pretty sure that they actually can't-"

"Then they'll do something even _worse_ to him! Dean, you know this. You need my help. Cas is my friend too! I know that I freaked out a little back there, but I'm not about to sit back and let those- those _things_ hurt him because of me!"

"Because of- Sam, this isn't your fault."

"Yes it is! You know that the only reason that he's out there alone is because of me. Please, Dean, I want to help."

It was a bad idea. Dean knew it. With whatever weird angel-killing powers Eve had given him, sticking Sam in a room full of angry angels could really only end one of two ways. Either the angels would kill Sam, or he would kill all of them.

Of course, under the current circumstances, that second possibility was seeming downright appealing.

"All right. All right, let's go."


	14. Ring of Fire

Fallen

Chapter 14

AN: We're going to get a bit darker in the next couple of chapters. This shit, my friends, just got real.

Any way, this is exciting! Finally, the fun stuff is finally beginning! (And by fun, I mean awful, horrible things happening to the characters we all love, because we're all a bunch of depraved sadists)

* * *

Castiel feels the pull of the summons, and knows that it is time. He isn't ready. Won't ever be ready.

He wishes that he was more upset, knows that he should be angry, or afraid, or _something_.

He doesn't know why he can't find it in him to be any of these things.

The room that he finds himself suddenly transported too is large, industrial looking. Some factory that has been long-since abandoned.

_Dean was right. It is strange that we encounter so many of these abandoned buildings._

He shakes the thought from his head, regards the angels around him. Raphael, of course, as well as quite a large crowd of others. Some he knows. Others have taken new vessels and he can not see past the flesh to recognize them. But of those he does recognize, he sees several that had not previously been Raphael's followers. Many who had been his friends. That- hurt, in a way. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Confess." Raphaels voice was cold and low. "We already know that it was you who caused the Fall. Repent now, and we may be merciful."

Castiel shook his head. "I will not."

"Then you leave us no choice." Raphael said, voice thick with a regret that Castiel did not believe for an instant.

Castiel had decided, in the moment after Crowley had vanished from the bus station, that he would not beg. He would not try to reason with Raphael, because it would not make any difference. Whatever lies Crowley had fed him, Raphael no doubt already saw them for what they were- lies. He just didn't care.

Someone had to be blamed.

The angels were all dying. They would likely have years, decades before it happened, but to an angel, that was nothing. Just a blip. They knew that was all the time that they had left before they vanished forever, dissipated into the void. And just as it was clear that they had been made mortal, it was equally clear that _someone_ had done this to them.

_Someone_ had to be blamed.

And Raphael had decided that it would be him.

It made sense, Castiel had to admit. He had already been singled out by falling so differently then the rest of them. The angels all already hated him, and there was also the more practical matter. With how he had fallen- he was all but damned already. Most of their work had already been done for them.

This course of action had likely been decided the moment that the angels fell.

The angels are all crowded against each other, bordering the edges of the warehouse. None of them seem willing to get within twenty feet of Castiel, where the farthest edges of the circle ends. Understandable, considering how violently the portal tends to open.

He closes his eyes, and lets himself mentally drift away from Raphael's continued accusations, far from this place and everything that has happened these few months since the Fall. They hadn't been that bad, really. He thinks that maybe, if he had been given the choice, he could have been quite happy on Earth.

He manages to feel almost peacefull when all of a sudden, all Hell breaks loose.

* * *

Sam inhaled sharply as they approached, feeling a sudden onslaught of nerves as they reached their destination. He wasn't sure how he had known to come here. He had simply felt drawn, like a magnet. Dean hadn't said anything as Sam gave him the directions- there was no time for that, not right now, but Sam could feel that a 'Talk' was coming, provided that they both actually made it out of here alive.

"This it?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Sam said. "The angels are in there."

As if on cue, they could hear talking coming from the other side of the door- Raphael's cool monotone droned for a moment and then another voice, clearly Castiels, replied. Dean and Sam shared a look, each breathing a small sigh of relief. They weren't too late.

"You ready?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded silently. There was no telling how many angels were on the other side of that door, but neither had even the slightest thought of turning back. Sam steeled himself, remembering the brief glimpse of Castiel that he had seen, knowing that a room full of dozens of angels would be much worse.

The door burst open, and Sam realized that 'worse' did not even begin to describe it.

_OhGodSoBrightWhatTheHellISThatThingHowIsItPossibleForSomethingToBeThatBlue_

The thoughts flew in and out of his head lightning fast as he took in the scene before him. The room was full of what he rationally knew were angels, but what he only saw as beings made of pure light, that same sharp blue light he had seen in that space between worlds. The light was so bright that it devoured all else, eating away at the rooms' shadows until it every visible surface appeared to be bleached white.

He blinked, desperately trying to clear his eyes, to see some form of spacial definition again, as Dean dove headfirst into the light, angel blade in hand. He drove the blade into the center of one of the lights and the thing _exploded_. Sam ducked down to avoid a piece of flying shrapnel before he remembered that the light wasn't real- or at the very least wasn't _solid_.

_Move._ Sam thought, pushing himself forward. He had to move past this. He had to _help_.

One of the figures was rushing towards him, it's bizarrely shaped form buzzing angrily. He tried to pull out his angel blade, only to find that it wasn't in his hands. Had he dropped it somehow?

There was no time to find out. The thing was already almost there.

_Dosen't matter. You can still fight, you can still beat this thing. Eve gave you that power._

Part of him was screaming that he had no idea how to use that power, that he didn't even know what it _did_ yet. He pushed those doubts out of his mind. They weren't helping anyone right now.

The light was almost on him now, its high pitched, inhuman hum almost deafening. It looked like- God, there weren't even words that could describe it. Now that he could see it closely, there were unmistakable echoes of the human form within its shape, but they were all wrong. Things that looked like they may have once been arms or legs had been stretched out and bent into impossible angles. Gaping holes peppered the body of the thing, as did bulbous lumps. It was almost as though someone had cut great chunks of flesh from the thing and then sewn them back on in seemingly random locations. What might have been the torso was almost entirely hollowed out.

When he had seen Castiel, Sam had pitied him.

For this creature, he felt nothing but disgust.

Without even thinking, he reached up, and plunged his hand deep into the light.

Some detached part of his brain wonders why the light seems to be _wet_ on the inside, but he didn't have time to think about what that meant, because at that precise moment, the light _cracked_. A dark red fissure spread out from his hand, spider-webbing through the light like broken glass. He stared in awe at what was happening, finding his gaze drawn to the angels head- or at least what he _thought_ was the head. He could see something there, the shadow of something that might have once been called a face, its faint lines painting a picture of absolute agony.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. As the cracks spread, the blue light began to break off,and disintegrate, Sam found that he was able to see more and more of the vessel underneath it. Bit by bit the light vanished, until only the eyes were left. And then finally, even that faded. Sam could see the vessel clearly for the first time. He looked like a business man, mid fifties maybe, with graying hair and wire rimmed glasses. He saw the massive bleeding hole in the mans chest and realized, all too late, just what that wet sensation was. The man had collapsed, but was looking up at Sam with the last of his strength. Oddly enough, the man still seemed to almost glow, but the light was far fainter then what it had been before, looking almost as though the man was standing under a warm golden light.

The man was crying. No, _weeping_, still staring at Sam in what Sam is suddenly sure will be the mans (angels?) last moments.

The man breaks out into a wild grin, and then plunges his own angel blade into his heart.

Sam stumbles backwards in shock, struggling to pull his arm from- God, was that _intestines?! _The blood was all the way up to his forearm. His brain was firing off at a thousand miles a minute.

_Holy shit, I just killed him, I just killed him with my bare hands, I stuck my hand **through** him, Jesus Christ, that was an angel, I just murdered an angel. No, no, he killed himself, he stabbed himself in the heart- Why did he do that? Did I make him do that? Is that how this works?_

He needed to get himself the Hell out of here. He had been wrong, in making Dean bring him here. He had obviously wildly overestimated his sense of self control if he had just _stuck his arm through an angels guts_ without even realizing it. Shit, this had been a bad idea.

What happened if he _did_ make it to Castiel? What did he seriously expect was going to happen, coming here? Did he really think that he would be able to _help_ him? He hadn't even been able to see that angels face beneath the light, he couldn't see any of their faces, not until they were dead (or close to it), what was going to happen if he made it to him and didn't recognize him and then-

_Oh wait, there he is._

Sam blinked, staring in Castiels direction. Because that _was_ Castiel, there was no doubt about it. That awful coiling light is still there of course, snaking through him just as it had been when Sam had caught that brief glimpse of him in the Panic Room. And back then, when Sam had nothing to compare it to, that image had seemed like the worse thing in the world. But, God, compared to the other angels, compared to those faceless, formless _things,_ it was _nothing._

_Is it because he fell further then the rest of them? _Sam couldn't help but wonder. _Is that why he's so different?  
_

He can feel the other angels eyes- _no, not eyes, they don't have those- _the angels _gaze _turn towards him. He could feel them, looking at him, looking at the body on the floor next to him.

_No burn marks. Guess the angels lost their wings during the Fall._

There is a brief moment of silence as he can feel the angels taking in what they see, and then an enraged _shrieking_ suddenly fills the room. The sound is dense, almost suffocating, and Sam an feel it vibrating his bones. It grips him like a vice, pushes every other thought out of his head.

Something _shifted_ in Sam's perception in that moment, and suddenly, terribly, he understood. He understood what Eve had shown him, understood the dying angels last wild grin, understood what had happened all those millennia ago, what was _still_ happening.

And he understood, with an awful unavoidable clarity, what that light was.

He collapsed to his knees, and started to scream.

* * *

Dean meanwhile, saw none of this.

He had entered the warehouse and had found it full of angels. In the center of the room was some weird circle lined with symbols that he didn't recognize, and in the center of the circle was Cas. Cas, who was covered in blood and who looked even paler then usual. Who was collapsed on the floor because his legs looked to be so sharply broken that they might as well have been snapped in two.

He immediately got to the work of stabbing every angel that he could find.

He didn't see Sam kill the angel- he was too busy grappling with another angel for their sword when the angels suddenly erupted in a chorus of enraged screaming. He felt, more then saw, the angels turn as one towards Sam. By the time he got himself turned around to see what was happening, Sam's arm was covered in blood for some reason that Dean could not quite comprehend, and his eyes were glazed, fixed on some point in the distance just above Castiel.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" Raphael shouted, enraged as the deafening screams finally died down. Dean didn't understand what the big deal was. He saw the dead angel by Sams feet, sure, but Dean had just killed like, 3 angels just now, and Raphael and the others didn't seem to give a shit. Why was it that as soon as _Sam _did it that they all started throwing a hissy fit?

"You will learn to regret that, you abomination." Raphaels voice boomed, the archangel visibly struggling to control his rage.

Raphael was walking towards Sam now, who had for some reason collapsed to his knees and was- oh shit, Sammy was _crying. _He was looking up at Raphael with an expression that Dean had _never_ seen on his face, never in all their years of hunting, this awful combination of horror and grief and disgust, and _crap_, Dean needed to get over there _right now_.

There was no way that he could though, not with so many angels in the way. Instead, he subtly nicked the palm of his hand and pulled out a small piece of plywood that he had hidden in his jacket, conveniently pre-painted with the angel-banishing sigil.

_Who says that I can't plan ahead?_

But no sooner has gotten the thing out of his jacket that two things happen in quick succession.

First, Raphaels gaze snaps towards him. And then, just as suddenly, Dean can't move- at least, not in any way that he can control.

He falls bonelessly to the floor with a resounding crack that he knows must be the sound of his nose breaking against the concentrate.

_What the shit?_

He tries to stand up. Can't. Can't even lift his head. Couldn't seem to move at all.

What the Hell had Raphael just done to him? Severed his spine? The thought seems terrifyingly possible.

Raphael looks at him the way some might look at a particularly disgusting worm. "Hold him up. I want him to see this." Two nearby angels awkwardly pulled Dean into something resembling a sitting position. He felt strangely detached from his own body. The entire situation had taken a turn from bad to straight up nightmarish. Everything suddenly seemed far too terrible to be real, from the impossible angle of Cas' legs, to the strange almost catatonic look on Sams face.

Raphael spoke, voice low and booming. "The three of you have defied God's will time and time again. It is that defiance that has prevented Edens return, that has seen Michael, the most loyal of Gods warriors unfairly imprisoned within Hell. And it is this defiance that has caused the very destruction of Heaven itself. But you shall soon learn that the forces of Heaven are not so easily defeated."

Raphael approached Cas, never acknowledging that the other angel was struggling just to stay lucid. The declaration was clearly meant more for the surrounding angels anyway.

"Castiel- you stand accused of a crime far greater then that of Lucifer- of destroying Heaven, and plotting with our enemies to create a weapon to even _further _ strip what remains of our essense from us. The proof is right here." Raphael turned his head towards Sam. "I must say, Castiel, using Lucifers vessel as the means of our destruction- it seems that you wanted to shame us as much as destroy us."  
"It's not- Sam's not-" Castiel ground his teeth, tried to lift himself up.

"But you miscalculated. Revealed your hand too soon. And now, everything will be put right."  
"Don't-" Castiel blinked, looking suddenly more vulnerable the Dean had ever seen him. "Don't hurt them. Please."

It was that please that hurt Dean the most. The idea that Cas would be reduced to begging, not for his own life but for that of some idiotic human- Sam, he could understand- despite all the kids mistakes, he was a good person, and deserved only the best, no matter how much the world kept giving him the worst it had to offer. But him? Definitely wasn't worth it.

The other angels took a step back as the weird circle below Cas started to glow. The air was becoming charged, thick with some kind of energy.

_This is actually happening. This is happening right now._

No one was saying a word. Dean could see some of the angels look around nervously, but none of them were saying anything to try and stop it.

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and he needed to move, to fight, to do_ something_\- but he couldn't even seem to blink. Didn't even have that much muscle control.

He had never felt so pathetic and God-damned helpless before in his life.

Cas had started to crawl away- little by little, he was making his way towards the edge of the circle, away from Raphael. And even though there were over a dozen angels staring directly at him, no one was making a move to stop him. Dean had the absurd mental image of him just crawling away, past all the other angels and through the door. But of course, that didn't happen. No sooner had Cas' fingertips brushed the edge of the circle, Raphael gave a small flick of his wrist, and with a sharp cracking sound Castiel collapsed completely.

Dean heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind him. The other angels around Cas backed away further, looking afraid even though Cas _obviously_ posed no threat at all at this point.

Dean looked at Cas, trying to figure out what had just happened. Raphael had bent Cas' arms backwards, right at the elbows, and it was pretty clear that his arms were broken.

_Now that just seems unnecessary._

Raphael actually sighed, like he was disappointed. "Why must you continue to make this more difficult for yourself?"

"No-"

Dean almost didn't hear it- it wasn't his voice- not only was he pretty sure that he didn't even have the ability to talk rght now, but the voice had definitely belonged to a woman. One of the angels? It had to be, there was no one else here. So there _was_ an angel who wasn't totally on board with what was happening.

Dean prayed.

_Look, whoever you are, you have to do something, you have to stop this._

Silence. The energy in the room had taken a heated quality, and Dean knew that there wasn't much more time.

_I can't_

Another voice! A womans voice, somewhere inside his head. Dean didn't know that angels even _could_ communicate telepathically.

_Yes you can! You have to at least try- please, I'll do anything._

The voice came again. _There's too many of them. _

_The banishing sigil! _Dean thought desperately. _There's one already drawn on that piece of wood on the floor over there. You can get rid of all of them in one shot!_

There was a pause as the angel seemed to consider this that felt like an eternity, but was actually about three seconds.

_I will try._ The voice suddenly declared, and Dean could have kissed her.

It would suck for Cas, getting zapped to New Zealand or China or wherever with both of his arms and legs broken, but it would still be better then being in this warehouse once that portal below him opened.

There was a shifting moment behind him. The weird circle increased in brightness, red glowing so bright it seemed almost white.

_We have to hurry!_

Suddenly, Dean felt an explosion of sensation. His left arm had been twisted into an awkward position by the angel holding him up, and there was a small piece of debree digging into his knee that he hadn't been able to feel before.

_Raphael really did snap my neck, the bastard._

He felt a thin hand slip something into his right hand, and recognized the familiar grip of an angel blade. And suddenly, it was official. Whoever this woman was, she was his new best friend.

_First thing's first then._

Dean jammed the blade into the angel that had been holding him up- some big dude that looked like a corrupt investment banker. And then, all of a sudden, there was no time to think. A surge of movement and violence erupted all around him. He could see the angel who had helped him over to his left. She was small- short and rail-thin, upper body almost swallowed in an over-sized blue sweater. She was frantically trying to reach the banishing sigil, but one of the other angels had grabbed her by the hair, and was roughly pulling her back. The guy looked about three times her size, and Dean was reminded of those cartoon bullies that would demand the nerdy kids lunch money.

Dean rushed forward, stabbing a balding angel on the way.

_There wasn't enough time!_

All they had to do was touch the sigil, and then all of this would go away. The fiery charge in the room was getting more and more intense by the second. Dean could almost smell the sulfur.

Maybe if he threw the angel blade, if he was able to hit the angel holding her back- but he couldn't get a clear shot, not with him holding her in front of him like that. Or he could just activate the sigil himself, and then...

He spotted a glint of silver in the massive angels hand.

He tackled the angel, and miraculously, it worked. He let her go, seeming startled. If Dean could just hold him down long enough then-

There was a flash of fiery light as the ground in the center of the room opened up. When it dissipated, Cas was gone.

They hadn't made it. They were too late.

He caught a glimpse of the wide eyes of the angel just before she activated the sigil

_Blue._

And then, suddenly, he and Sam were alone in an empty warehouse that was thick with heat and the smell of sulfur.


	15. Book Two: Damned

AN: This just in, Crowley is now officially my favorite character to write. This chapter was a blast from start to finish, and I'm really glad that we should be seeing more from the demon in the upcoming chapters.

Anyway, the structure of this story is changing from here on out. Up until now, I've tried keeping all the characters POV chapters pretty evenly distributed while I set things up. But now I'm planning on focusing on one character for story arcs at a time. Soooo lots more Crowley in the near future. (I'm excited. I know you guys might not be excited, but I'm excited.)

So anyway, we begin 'part 2' by finally seeing what Crowley's been doing this entire time!

* * *

Fallen

Book Two- Damned

* * *

Chapter 15

Crowley was pleased with himself. There was nothing that he liked more then knowing that everything was going according to plan.

Taking over Hell had been no easy task. The overwhelming majority of demon-kind saw him as a traitor for his decision not to blindly follow Lucifer off of a cliff. As though it was some sort of crime to have even a minimum amount of common sense.

He had survived those early days only because of the meticulous contingency planning that he had begun long before the apocalypse, back when Lucifer was nothing more then a name spoken in awed whispers around the hell fire, an absent God for demon-kind. In the beginning, Crowley hadn't even really believed, but he was nothing if not prepared. For any eventuality.

He had gained quite a lot of power over the years by ingratiating himself with Hells power-players. And he always made sure that they needed him more then he needed them. He had gotten a lot of powerful demons under his thumb that way, gained far more power and influence then a crossroads demon ever had by carefully working behind the curtain. And now, it was finally paying off. With Lucifer out of the picture for good, it was time to cash in his chips.

He had made himself the King of Hell.

But, despite all of his successes, there were- unforeseen complications. One was the sheer number of demons who were still loyal to Lucifer, despite the fact that the Fallen Archangel had done nothing to reward even his most loyal of soldiers, that he clearly viewed demons as cannon-fodder at _best_. The demons refused to see Lucifer as anything other then an infallible God, much less as the petulant, destructive child that he was. They actually _believed_ that Lucifer had been going to reward them after the Apocalypse, perhaps by changing Hell into something other then a pit of unending torment (never mind that Lucifer was the one who made Hell like that in the first place), and they therefore thought that Crowley had taken that eventual paradise away from them.

Idiots, all of them.

None of them had dared to move against him, not yet at least, but Crowley could feel their grumblings like a ticking time bomb. It was only a matter of time before he had a revolution on his hands.

He had _wanted_ to crush the dissenting voices quickly. He had initially planned to manipulate the angel Castiel into helping him do just that (The angel did, after all, have every reason to want Lucifer loyalists dead), perhaps by opening the gates of Purgatory and using its power to grind the souls of Crowleys enemies to dust.

_ That_ plan, however, had fallen apart almost immediately when Castiel seemed to take his inability to save the soul of Sam Winchester as some sort of omen that he couldn't do anything to help, and he had flown off to Heaven and proceeded to ignore Crowley's calls.

So, the brute force plan had to be scrapped, and Crowley had to come up with an alternate one. Preferably one that would screw Castiel over as much as possible. (There was nothing at all wrong with a little petty revenge, after all.)

And all the while, the discontent within Hell grew. _Something _needed to be done. And soon.

Considering this, Crowley made an uncomfortable realization. For as much prestige as he had gained, all he had really done when declaring his new title was make himself a target in the struggle for power. He had allowed his ego to get the better of him, wanted to flaunt his new found position before he had enough strength to defend it. He should have known better. He had gotten to where he was by staying off the radar, by not wasting time or energy on the stupid posturing that the other demons couldn't seem to stop doing. He had instead quietly ingratiated himself with Lilith, became the demon that everyone called when they needed something, and began building up his own power.

He had always found it remarkable, just how wasteful and inefficient Hell was. In the early days, when he was still adding the very first couple of souls to his collection, Crowley had run several private experiments on them. It was common knowledge that Hell and its inhabitants were powered by the suffering of the human souls in the pit. Crowley had wanted to understand just how that process worked, so that he could begin to take advantage of it. What he found was that when a human soul suffered, it released energy, that could then be consumed by whatever demon had claimed the poor saps soul. The more energy a demon consumed, the stronger they became. Most demons tried to get more power by breaking the souls down as quickly as possible- when a soul 'broke' it released a tidal wave of energy that could be devoured all at once. They could then focus their attention on the next soul, and the next, and the next. Being able to break a soul quickly was a sign of status among demons. What the other demons failed to realize was that the moment a soul transformed from human to demon, it ceased being a resource and started being _competition. _

Crowley had taken the opposite approach, because he, as he liked to put it, was not a short-sighted idiot. By playing around with those first few souls he had realized that by giving them a persistent but manageable level of pain, he could keep them producing energy for exponentially longer. In fact, though the rewards were less immediate, Crowley had found that souls actually produced the most energy when left alone in a state of mild discomfort- like an ingrown toenail, or constant hiccuping, or a splinter in their eyeball. And because he didn't have to constantly hack and slash at his prey, he expended far less energy then the other demons. And even more importantly, none of the other demons ever realized just how much more energy he was getting, because he didn't go around showboating and putting himself in the radar of those who might try and take what he had built.

But by far, his greatest accomplishment, and the reason that he had been able to claim the title of King in the first place, had been his resounding success in sales.

Being a crossroads demon was _fantastic_, and Crowley quickly found that he was good at it. The best part about it was that it was a job that no one else seemed to pay much attention too. As long as they kept getting a steady inflow of souls to torture, they didn't care _how_ Crowley had gotten them. Or what he had snuck into the fine print along the way. (If there was one thing that the average demon understood less then trust, it was legal jargon). Hidden between section IIV paragraphs 8 and 9 was a single declaration, that read that if the holder of the contract died, the soul would then go to the contracts writer. And when Lilith died, all the contracts in her possession, _every _contract, became his.

He told no one about this, not even after Lilith died and the Apocalypse began. He allowed them to underestimate him, and even after he openly defied Lucifer. Then, when the whole thing was over, he strode back into Hell and declared himself King. The others had attacked, not realizing that he now technically _owned_ them, as well as all of Hell. He destroyed the first wave of attackers quickly, disintegrating them as a warning to those that might attack him next.

Step 1: Establish Dominance.

He drew from the power of billions of damned souls. With so much power at his disposal, even the few scattered Fallen Angels could do nothing to stop him from taking over.

No one dared attack him again.

Most demons would be satisfied with that level of subservience. But Crowley was not most demons. He did not want to rule by fear alone. He wanted respect, adulation.

Step 2: Gain Trust

This, of course, turned out to be far more difficult.

Crowley was, after all, a demon, and demons did _not _trust other demons. They knew better. They _knew_ that he had hidden motives behind every favor he gave, that each promise was laced with loopholes and outright lies. They would never trust him to look out for anyone's best interest except for his own- and they were right too. But no matter how justified, this lack of basic trust frustrated Crowley to no end. Without that trust, he would never be able to rule through anything other then fear. And considering the amount of dissatisfaction that already existed, doing _that_ would lead to an outright coup.

It was with that in mind that he asked himself- what was it about Lucifer that inspired such devotion? The answer was easy to see with a little reflection. Lucifer gave the demons _hope_. Hope that one day, perhaps, things would change. That their creator would rise again and take all of them with him when he burst through the gates of Heaven, and that they would be able to take the paradise that they had been so long denied.

Hope, Crowley thought, was the cruelest thing that you could give a demon. It would inevitably crumble, replaced by the continued horror of their existence. Demons, as a rule, did not hope. It was only for Lucifer that they had made an exception. And any attempts that Crowley made to get them to extend that same exception to him was doomed to failure from the very beginning.

What he needed was a _symbol_ that he could get the demons to rally behind. What he needed was a new Lucifer.

Crowley broke into a smile. Oh yes. That would do nicely.

It should have been easy enough to convince Raphael of his plan. All he needed to do was to point out how many of the other angels had already begun to look at Castiel as something of a leader.

"It's easy to see why." Crowley said over a glass of brandy that Raphael refused to even touch, the heathen. "God brought him back to life. Makes the rest of you look like you were on the wrong side of history. It's only a matter of time before he has enough of a following to do some real damage." Crowley paused for effect. "You saw what he did while weakened and with only the aid of a handful of humans. Imagine what he'll be able to do with an actual army."

"So I simply kill Castiel and be done with it. I hardly need your help to do _that_, demon."

Crowley smirked. "I really _wouldn't _do that if I were you. Kill him now and all you'll be doing is turning him into a martyr- a rallying cry for the opposition. No. What you need to kill is his reputation."

Raphael sneered- or at least, Crowley thought that he did, that might have just been the way that his face looked. "_What_ reputation? He disobeyed our direct orders, betrayed his commanding officers. There is no worse crime for an angel. No one would dare follow him."  
"They _will_ unless you make an example out of him."

"You would have me give him to you? To Hell? So that he can once again turn against us? So that he can kill more of my brothers and sisters?"

"So that he can be _punished_." Crowley said, seeing an opening. "Believe me, no one does punishment like Hell. It's our specialty."

Raphael paused, and for a moment Crowley thought that he was going to agree. But then- "No. It was Heaven that he betrayed, and so it will be Heaven that punishes him." With that, Raphael stood, turned as if to leave.

Crowley felt a fresh wave of frustration. _Angels. _A stubborn, short sighted lot, all of them. Instead of showing his anger, he simply leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the brandy. "Seems a shame, to let him off easy like that."  
Raphael looked back, eyes suddenly cold. "Believe me, demon, that is far from the case. Don't forget who made Hell what it is." And with that, Raphael was gone, leaving Crowley alone to huff in frustration.

_Well if at first you don't succeed..._

There was more then one way to get what you wanted. All it took was a little creativity, and the ability to work your way around the obstacles in your path.

What he wanted was to see Castiel in Hell. He wanted to make the angel submit to him, to wipe every trace of self-righteous judgment off of his face. Then, once that was done, he would use him. He would let the demons rally around him, and take private pleasure in knowing that the object of their adoration was letting himself be used as Crowleys footrest behind closed doors.

Crowley felt himself smile at the mental image. Yes, that would do quite nicely. But it wouldn't happen unless Crowley _made_ it happen. And to do that, it looked like he was going to have to be sneaky.

Fortunately, that was something that Crowley excelled at.

Despite how much he might pretend otherwise, Raphael was no Michael. He had neither the raw power or the unquestioning loyalty that the eldest Arch-Angel had held. If an overwhelming majority of his subjects wanted to see Castiel in Hell, then Raphael would have to comply.

All Crowley needed to do was to make sure that happened.

All it would take was some simple character assassination.

If something was repeated enough times by enough people, it became accepted as fact. And there was one surefire way to make sure everyone kept talking.

Sex sells.

The best way to convince anyone of anything was to make them think that they had come up with the idea themselves. So he didn't immediately run around trying to start rumors. Instead, he took a far more subtle approach.

He had met Estelle long ago, in one of his favorite corners of Hell. He had quickly come to appreciate her sense of humor, as well as several _other_ aspects of her. The succubus hardly seemed to mind being objectified. It came with the job. As did a little bit of role-play.

He handed her a picture. "Think you can manage it?"

"Easy." She said, smiling, as her body began to shift.

"Lovely." He had always admired the succubus' ability to completely change their appearance, and thought it strange that they only ever used that ability for sex.

"Isn't this the shape of that angel who screwed up all of your plans?" She asked, shifting out of her jacket. "Looking to act out some sort of revenge scenario?"

"Lets keep it simple for now. But- perhaps a bit of humiliation play?"

She smiled in a come-hither way that he was sure Castiel never once in his eternity of existence worn- and it was a shame, because it actually looked quite good on him. _Maybe one day._

Best not to get ahead of himself.

He kept the scenario boring. The most important thing was to make sure that Estelle would not feel the need to brag about it with the girls over a cup of coffee or whatever it was that succubi did when they were alone together. Just a bit of fun to break up the monotony of Hell. What she didn't know was that the demon who walked into Crowley's office halfway through their session was not in on the joke.

"What are you doing here?!" Crowley shouted, as the demon openly gaped at the scene before him.

"You- you told me deliver the new contracts to you as soon as possible." the demon stammered, clearly shocked at finding his boss with his pants down (literally).

"Well you've done it. Contracts delivered. Congratulations. Now go away, can't you see that I'm busy?"

"A- of course sir!" the demon yelped, darting out of the room.

The story spread like wildfire after that, just like Crowley knew that it would._ Gullible idiots, all of them._

All he needed to do now was wait.

He had certainly not expected to have to wait for so long. It was more then a little disconcerting, as weeks and weeks passed and nothing happened. He _knew _that Raphael has spies within Hell- certainly he had heard the rumors by now. _Certainly he doesn't still plan to keep Castiel in Heaven after hearing this._

Crowley knew what had happened to the angels who gave in to their... baser impulses. They had all been punished- always harshly and more importantly _swiftly_. He had thought Raphael would cast Castiel down the moment he heard the first whispers of the angels 'misdeeds'. It was what Michel would have done- _had_ done, on many occasions in the past.

_Perhaps Raphael has more sense then his older brother after all. _

There was nothing that Crowley liked less then when a plan failed to come together. He began sulking in what he knew was an undignified manner when he realized that he might have to find some other way of winning the demons trust. He thought of all the other fallen angles, reciting their names in search of one who had not already been driven entirely mad by their time in Hell. He thought of Valac, who would occasionally wonder through Hell, ripping the arms and legs off souls at random so that he could keep the severed limbs in a pile by his bed. He thought of Belial, who did the same thing, but with the heads of small children.

None of them would do. Even if he did somehow manage to reason with them (which was unlikely, considering they were some of Lucifers staunchest followers), they were far too mad, too demon-like- the demons would never trust them. Which left him back at square one.

_It was a fools errand anyway. Fear is the only thing the demons understand._

But no sooner had he resigned himself to this fact that he got word that Castiel had fallen. His brief moment of triumph was marred almost instantly by his nervous looking messenger.

"What is it?"  
"Well, sir, it's just- there were others."  
"Others?"  
"Other angels. That fell, I mean, sir."

Crowley briefly thought that maybe that explained why the whole process had taken so long- that perhaps Raphael had wanted to punish all his enemies at once in some sort of mass sentencing. But one look at the messengers nervous face told him that wasn't it. "How many others?"

"It looks like- all of them, sir."

Crowley felt an unwelcome feeling of was the sense that the universe had been irrevocably changed somehow. The angels had been annoying, to be sure, but they had been a constant. Like the mountains, or the oceans. And then suddenly, they were gone, the entire host removed from power in the blink of an eye. Removed by some unknown force- an impossibly powerful variable that Crowley didn't even know how to begin to account for.

He needed the demons support, and fast. Hell, fractured as it was, could never hope to stand against- whatever it was that destroyed Heaven. Which meant that he needed to speed up Castiels arrival.

"Gather the council." He said, forcing himself to smile. "My dear Castiel has managed to actually pull his mad scheme off."

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
